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THE  CHILDREN'S  TREASURY 

OF 

ENGLISH  SONG. 


MACMILLAN'S  SCHOOL  LIBRARY 

OP 

BOOKS 

SUITABLE  FOR  SUPPLEMENTARY  READING. 

J  6 mo.    Cloth.    Each,  50  cents. 


A  BOOK  OF   GOLDEN  DEEDS  .       .       .    Charlotte  M.  Yonge. 
MADAM  HOW  AND  LADY  WHY     .       .    Rev.  Charles  Kingsley. 
STORIES  FROM  WAVERLEY     .       H.  Gassiot  (Mrs.  Alfred  Burton). 

WESTWARD  HO ! Rev.  Charles  Kingsley. 

HEREWARD  THE  WAKE    ....    Rev.  Charles  Kingsley. 
STORIES  FROM  THE  HISTORY  OF  ROME    Mrs.  Busby. 
STORIES  FROM  VIRGIL       ....    Rev.  Alfred  J.  Church. 
ROMAN  LIFE  IN  THE  DAYS  OF  CICERO    Rev.  Alfred  J.  Church. 
TALES  FROM  SHAKESPEARE  .        .       .    Charles  and  Mary  Lamb. 

THE  WATER  BABIES Rev.  Charles  Kingsley. 

TOWN  GEOLOGY Rev.  Charles  Kingsley. 

LITTLE  LUCY'S  WONDERFUL  GLOBE    .    Charlotte  M.  Yonge. 
THE  STORY  OF  THE  ILIAD        .       .       .    Rev.  Alfred  J.  Church. 
THE  GOLDEN  TREASURY  OF  SONGS  AND  LYRICS, 

Selected  and  arranged  by  Francis  Turner  Palgrave. 

BIOGRAPHIES Lord  Macaulay. 

THE  CHILDREN'S  TREASURY  OF  ENGLISH  SONG, 

Selected  and  arranged  by  Francis  Turner  Palgrave. 
TALES  FROM  SPENSER      ....    Sophia  H.  Maclehose. 
STORY  OF  THE  ODYSSEY  ....    Rev.  Alfred  J.  Church. 
THE  HEROES  OF  ASGARD  .        .       .       .A.  and  E.  Keary. 

OTHER    VOLUMES   TO  FOLLOW. 


THE  MACMILLAN   COMPANY,  PUBLISHERS, 

66  FIFTH  AVENUE,  NEW  YORK. 


THE 

CHILDREN'S    TREASURY 

OF 

ENGLISH    SONG 

SELECTED   AND  ARRANGED   WITH   NOTES   BY 

FRANCIS     TURNER     MLGRAVE 

LATE   FELLOW    OF     EXETER    COLLEGE,     OXFORD  ; 
EDITOR   OF   THE    '  GOLDEN    TREASURY  ' 


THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY. 
1906. 


The  Publishers  owe  their  thanks  to  Mr.  William 
Cullen  Bryant  for  the  use  of  his  two  poems  "  To  a 
Waterfowl"  and  "  The  Death  of  the  Flowers "j  also 
to  Messrs.  yames  P.  Osgood  &  Co.  for  permission 
to  print  Professor  Longfellow's  "  The  Wreck  of  the 
Hesperus"  from  their  copyright  edition  of  his  works. 


J 

3*21.08 

PREFACE 


This  selection  is  planned  for  children  between 
nine  or  ten,  and  fifteen  or  sixteen  years  of  age  ; 
the  pleasure  and  advantage  of  the  older  students 
in  Elementary,  and  the  younger  in  Grammar  and 
Public  Schools,  being  especially  kept  in  view. 
As  it  is  meant  for  their  own  possession  and 
study,  not  less  than  for  use  as  a  class-book  in 
the  teacher's  hand,  sufficient  notes  (it  is  thought) 
have  been  added  to  render  the  volume  by  itself 
fairly  comprehensible  to  children  of  average  in- 
telligence :  and  the  editor  hopes  that  this  object 
may  be  his  excuse  with  those  who  may  consider 
the  annotations  too  numerous. 

The  scheme  of  choice  followed  has  produced  a 
selection  different  from  any  known  to  the  editor. 
Suitability  to  childhood  is,  of  course,  the  common 
principle  of  all.  But,  this  quality  secured  (so  far 
as  individual  judgment  can),  nothing  has  been 
here  admitted  which  does  not  reach  a  high  rank 
in  poetical  merit ;  and  the  available  stores  of 
English  poetry  have  been  carefully  reviewed  for 
the  purpose.  The  editor's  wish  has  been  to  collect 
all  songs,  narratives,  descriptions,  or  reflective 
pieces  of  a  lyrical  quality,  fit  to  give  pleasure, 
—high,  pure,  manly,  (and  therefore  lasting) — 
to  children  in  the  stage  between  early  childhood 
and  early  youth ;  and  no  pieces  which  are  not  of 
this  character.     Poetry,  for  poetry's  sake,  is  what 


vi  Preface 

he  offers.  To  illustrate  the  history  of  our  litera- 
ture, to  furnish  specimens  of  leading  or  of  less- 
known  poets,  to  give  useful  lessons  for  this  or 
the  other  life,  to  encourage  a  patriotic  temper — 
each  an  aim  fit  to  form  the  guiding  principle  of 
a  selection — have  here  only  an  indirect  and  sub- 
sidiary recognition.  It  is,  however,  believed  that, 
so  far  as  the  scope  of  the  book  coincides  with 
such  other  aims,  they  may  be  more  effectually 
served  through  the  powerful  operation  of  really 
good  poetry,  than  when  made  the  main  object  of 
a  collection. 

The  standard  of  '  merit  as  poetry '  (so  far  as  the 
editor,  aided  by  some  friends  distinguished  by  good 
judgment  and  scholarship,  may  have  been  success- 
ful in  preserving  it),  has  excluded  a  certain  number 
of  popular  favourites.  But  the  standard  of  'suita- 
bility to  childhood,'  as  here  understood,  has  ex- 
cluded many  more  pieces  :  pictures  of  life  as  it  seems 
to  middle-age — poems  coloured  by  sentimentalism 
or  morbid  melancholy,  however  attractive  to  readers 
no  longer  children— love  as  personal  passion  or 
regret  (not  love  as  the  groundwork  of  action) — 
artificial  or  highly  allusive  language — have,  as  a 
rule,  been  held  unfit.  The  aim  has  been  to  shun 
scenes  and  sentiments  alien  from  the  temper  ot 
average  healthy  childhood,  and  hence  of  greater 
intrinsical  difficulty  than  poems  containing  un- 
usual words.  Hence,  although  the  rules  of  choice 
have  given  this  book,  as  compared  with  many  of 
its  predecessors,  an  unfamiliar  air,  yet  it  is  believed 
that  the  contents  will  in  fact  prove  ultimately  at 
least  as  comprehensible  to  children  between  the 
ages  specified. 


Preface  vii 

Poems  suitable  for  readers  in  the  latter  half  of 
these  years  are  marked  with  a  star  in  the  index. 
Some  pieces  will  be  found  admitted  as  examples 
leading  up  to  the  poetry  appropriate  to  later  educa- 
tion and  the  experience  of  life  ;  but,  looking  to  the 
small  size  of  the  collection,  it  has  not  been  thought 
desirable  to  attempt  ranging  the  contents  in  order 
of  composition  or  of  relative  difficulty. 

A  few  omissions  have  been  made  in  order  to 
render  a  poem  more  suitable  for  childhood,  or 
to  escape  encroachment  on  the  field  of  distinctly 
devotional  verse ;  others,  more  copiously,  when 
the  poem  could  be  thus  strengthened  in  a  vivid 
effectiveness.  The  North-country  Ballads  have  thus 
been  greatly  shortened ;  a  child  (in  the  editor's  judg- 
ment), especially  one  unfamiliar  with  dialect,  being 
more  likely  to  appreciate  afterwards  their  charming 
antique  garrulity,  and  the  repetitions  of  phrase 
proper  to  orally-published  poetry,  if  presented  first 
with  a  tale  in  our  more  condensed  modern  manner. 
When,  as  here,  poetry  for  poetry's  sake  is  concerned, 
extracts  in  general  appear  wholly  unsatisfactory  to 
the  editor  ;  they  are  like  fragments  barbarously 
broken  from  statues.  Such  only  have,  therefore, 
been  included  which  form  in  themselves  complete 
works  of  art 

For  some  pieces,  the  editor  has  to  thank  the 
liberality  of  the  copyright  owners  ;  regretting  the 
refusal  by  which  the  present  publisher  of  Mr. 
Alfred  Tennyson's  poems  has  deprived  this  book 
of  a  few  brilliant  pages,  and  its  readers  of  an  intro- 
duction to  the  writings  of  our  greatest  living  poet. 

The  rule  that  no  piece  should  be  admitted,  unless 
reaching  a  high  rank  in  poetical  merit,  if  carried 


viii  Preface 

out  successfully,  will  have  rendered  this  book  fit 
also  for  older  readers.  Such  will  know  that  the 
treasures  here  collected  are  but  a  few  drops  from 
an  ocean,  unequalled  in  wealth  and  variety  by 
any  existing  literature ;  that  many  illustrious  names 
are,  necessarily,  altogether  absent ;  that  many 
others  receive  but  a  meagre  and  imperfect  repre- 
sentation. Among  the  five  (surviving)  Imperial 
poets  of  the  Western  world,  England  claims 
two  ;  but  how  faintly  does  a  selection,  limited 
as  this,  present  the  splendour  of  Shakespeare  and 
Milton  !  Descending  one  or  two  steps,  if  Words- 
worth and  Scott,  within  this  century,  are  fairly 
shown  in  a  single  region  of  their  power,  Keats, 
Shelley,  Byron,  Crabbe,  on  different  grounds, 
must  be  nearly  or  wholly  undisplayed.  But,  in 
truth,  no  selection  should  be  planned  or  accepted 
as  able  to  do  more  than  open  a  glimpse  into  the 
'  Elysian  fields '  of  song.  Pleasant  as  has  been 
the  task  of  forming  this  book,  in  the  hope  that  it 
may,  in  itself,  prove  a  pleasure  and  a  gain  to  the 
dear  English  and  English-speaking  children,  all  the 
world  over,— yet  the  editor  will  hold  his  work  but 
half  fulfilled,  unless  they  are  tempted  by  it  to  go 
on  and  wander,  in  whatever  direction  their  fancy 
may  lead  them,  through  the  roads  and  winding 
ways  of  this  great  and  glorious  world  of  English 
poetry.  He  aims  only  at  showing  them  the  path, 
and  giving  them  a  little  foretaste  of  our  treasures:  — 
To-morrow  to  fresh  woods,  and  pastures  new. 

F.  T.  P. 

May:  1875 


FIRST  PART 

*  I   * 

A  LA  UGHING  SONG 

When  the  green  woods  laugh  with  the  voice  of  joy, 
And  the  dimpling  stream  runs  laughing  by ; 
When  the  air  does  laugh  with  our  merry  wit, 
And  the  green  hill  laughs  with  the  noise  of  it ; 

When  the  meadows  laugh  with  lively  green, 
And  the  grasshopper  laughs  in  the  merry  scene  ; 
When  Mary,  and  Susan,  and  Emily, 
With  their  sweet  round  mouths  sing,  '  Ha,  ha,  he  ! ' 

When  the  painted  birds  laugh  in  the  shade, 
Where  our  table  with  cherries  and  nuts  is  spread  : 
Come  live,  and  be  merry,  and  join  with  me 
To  sing  the  sweet  chorus  of '  Ha,  ha,  he  ! ' 

W.  Blake 


*  2  * 
THE   PET  LAMB 

The  dew  was  falling  fast,  the  stars  began  to  blink  ; 
I  heard  a  voice  ;    it  said,  '  Drink,  pretty  creature, 

drink  ! ' 
And  looking  o'er  the  hedge,  before  me  I  espied 
A  snow-white  mountain  lamb,  with  a  maiden  at  its 

side. 

B 


2  The  Children's  Treasury 

Nor  sheep,  nor  kine  were  near  ;  the  lamb  was  all 

alone, 
And  by  a  slender  cord  was  tetherM  to  a  stone  ; 
With  one  knee  on  the  grass  did  the  little  maiden 

kneel, 
While  to  that  mountain  lamb  she  gave  its  evening 

meal. 

The  lamb,  while  from  her  hand  he  thus  his  supper 

took, 
Seem'd  to  feast  with  head  and  ears  ;  and  his  tail 

with  pleasure  shook  : 
'  Drink,  pretty  creature,  drink!'  she  said  in  such  atone 
That  I  almost  received  her  heart  into  my  own. 

'Twas  little  Barbara  Lewthwaite,  a  child  of  beauty 

rare  ! 
I  watch'd  them  with  delight,  they  were  a  lovely  pair ; 
Now  with  her  empty  can  the  maiden  turn'd  away  ; 
But  ere  ten  yards  were  gone,  her  footsteps  did  she 

stay. 

Right  towards  the  lamb  she  look'd  ;  and  from  that 

shady  place 
I  unobserved  could  see  the  workings  of  her  face  ; 
If  nature  to  her  tongue  could  measured  numbers 

bring, 
Thus,  thought  I,  to  her  lamb  that  little  maid  might 

sing  : 

'  What  ails  thee,  Young  one  ?   what  ?    Why  pull  so 

at  thy  cord  ? 
'  Is  it  not  well  with  thee  ?   well  both  for  bed  and 

board  ? 
1  Thy  plot  of  grass  is  soft,  and  green  as  grass  can  be ; 
'  Rest,  little  Young  one,  rest  ;    what  is 't  that  aileth 

thee? 

19  If  she  could  write  verse 


of  English  Song       .  3 

1  What  is  it  thou  wouldst  seek  ?  What  is  wanting  to 

thy  heart  ? 
'  Thy  limbs  are  they  not  strong  ?  and  beautiful  thou 

art! 
'  This  grass  is  tender  grass  ;  these  flowers  they  have 

no  peers ; 
'  And  that  green  corn  all  day  is  rustling  in  thy  ears. 

'  If  the   sun  be  shining  hot,   do   but   stretch  thy 

woollen  chain  ; 
'  This  beech  is  standing  by,  its  covert  thou  canst 

gain  ; 
'  For  rain   and   mountain-storms  ! — the   like  thou 

need'st  not  fear, 
1  The  rain  and  storm  are  things  that  scarcely  can 

come  here. 

'  Rest,  little  Young  one,  rest ;  thou  hast  forgot  the 

day 
'  When  my  father  found  thee  first  in   places  far 

away  ; 
'  Many  flocks  were  on  the  hills,  but  thou  wert  own'd 

by  none, 
'  And  thy  mother  from  thy  side  for  evermore  was 

gone. 

'  He  took  thee  in  his  arms,  and  in  pity  brought  thee 

home : 
'  A  blessed  day  for  thee  ! — then  whither  wouldst  thou 

roam? 
'  A  faithful  nurse  thou  hast ;  the  dam  that  did  thee 

yean 
'  Upon   the  mountain-tops  no  kinder  could  have 

been. 

27  peers,  equals 

B2 


4  The  Childreiis  Treasury 

'  Thou  know'st  that  twice  a  day  I  have  brought  thee 

in  this  can 
'  Fresh  water  from  the  brook,  as  clear  as  ever  ran  ; 
'And  twice  in  the  day,  when  the  ground  is  wet  with 

dew, 
'  I  bring  thee  draughts  of  milk,  warm  milk  it  is  and 

new. 

'  Thy  limbs  will  shortly  be  twice  as  stout  as  they  are 

now, 
'  Then  I'll  yoke  thee  to  my  cart  like  a  pony  in  the 

plough  ! 
'  My  playmate  thou  shalt  be  ;  and  when  the  wind  is 

cold 
'  Our  hearth  shall  be  thy  bed,  our  house  shall  be 

thy  fold. 

'  It  will  not,  will  not  rest ! — Poor  creature,  can  it  be 
'  That  'tis  thy  mother's  heart  which  is  working  so  in 

thee? 
'  Things  that  I  know  not  of  belike  to  thee  are  dear, 
'  And  dreams  of  things  which  thou  canst  neither  see 

nor  hear. 

'  Alas,  the  mountain-tops  that  look  so  green  and  fair! 
'  I've  heard  of  fearful  winds  and  darkness  that  come 

there ; 
'The  little  brooks  that  seem  all  pastime  and  all 

play, 
'  When  they  are  angry,  roar  like  lions  for  their  prey. 

'  Here  thou  need'st  not  dread  the  raven  in  the  sky  ; 
'Night   and   day  thou    art    safe, — our  cottage    is 

hard  by. 
'Why  bleat   so   after   me?    Why  pull   so   at   thy 

chain  ? 
'  Sleep — and  at  break  of  day  I  will  come  to  thee 

again  ! ' 

51  belike,  probably 


of  English  Song  t 

— As  homeward  through  the  lane  I  went  with  lazy 

feet, 
This  song  to  myself  did  I  oftentimes  repeat ; 
And  it  seem'd,  as  1  retraced  the  ballad  line  by  line, 
That  but  half  of  it  was  hers,  and  one  half  of  it  was 

mine. 


Again,  and  once  again,  did  I  repeat  the  song ; 

'  Nay,'  said  I,  '  more  than  half  to  the  damsel  must 

belong  ! — 
'  For  she  look'd  with  such  a  look,  and  she  spake 

with  such  a  tone, 
'  That  I  almost  received  her  heart  into  my  own.' 

IV.  Wordsworth 


THE  LAMB 

Little  Lamb,  who  made  thee  ? 
Dost  thou  know  who  made  thee  ? 
Gave  thee  life,  and  bade  thee  feed 
By  the  stream  and  o'er  the  mead  ; 
Gave  thee  clothing  of  delight, 
Softest  clothing,  woolly,  bright ; 
Gave  thee  such  a  tender  voice, 
Making  all  the  vales  rejoice  : 

Little  Lamb,  who  made  thee  ? 

Dost  thou  know  who  made  thee  ? 

Little  Lamb,  111  tell  thee! 
Little  Lamb,  I'll  tell  thee. 
He  is  called  by  thy  name, 
For  He  calls  Himself  a  Lamb  : — 

63  retraced,  repeated 


The  Children's  Treasury 

He  is  meek,  and  He  is  mild  ; 
He  became  a  little  child  : 
I,  a  child,  and  thou,  a  lamb, 
We  are  called  by  His  name. 

Little  Lamb,  God  bless  thee ; 

Little  Lamb,  God  bless  thee. 

IV.  Make 


EPITAPH  ON  A    HARE 

Here  lies,  whom  hound  did  ne'er  pursue. 

Nor  swifter  greyhound  follow, 
Whose  foot  ne'er  tainted  morning  dew.. 

Nor  ear  heard  huntsman's  halloo  ! 

Old  Tiney,  surliest  of  his  kind, 
Who,  nursed  with  tender  care, 

And  to  domestic  bounds  confined, 
Was  still  a  wild  Jack-hare. 

Though  duly  from  my  hand  he  took 

His  pittance  every  night, 
He  did  it  with  a  jealous  look, 

And,  when  he  could,  would  bite. 

His  diet  was  of  wheaten  bread, 
And  milk,  and  oats,  and  straw ; 

Thistles,  or  lettuces  instead, 
With  sand  to  scour  his  maw. 

On  twigs  of  hawthorn  he  regaled, 

On  pippin's  russet  peel ; 
And  when  his  juicy  salads  fail'd 

Sliced  carrot  pleased  him  well. 

3  tainted,  scented    10  pittance,  portion    16  to  make  his  food  digest 
1 8  russet,  brown-red 


of  English  Song 

A  Turkey  carpet  was  his  lawn, 

Whereon  he  loved  to  bound, 
To  skip  and  gambol  like  a  fawn, 

And  swing  his  rump  around. 

His  frisking  was  at  evening  hours, 

For  then  he  lost  his  fear  ; 
But  most  before  approaching  showers, 

Or  when  a  storm  drew  near. 

Eight  years  and  five  round-rolling  moons 

He  thus  saw  steal  away, 
Dozing  out  all  his  idle  noons, 

And  every  night  at  play. 

I  kept  him  for  his  humour's  sake, 

For  he  would  oft  beguile 
My  heart  of  thoughts  that  made  it  ache, 

And  force  me  to  a  smile. 

But  now,  beneath  this  walnut  shade, 

He  finds  his  long  last  home, 
And  waits,  in  snug  concealment  laid, 

Till  gentler  Puss  shall  come. 

He,  still  more  aged,  feels  the  shocks 
From  which  no  care  can  save  : — 

And,  partner  once  of  Tiney's  box, 
Must  soon  partake  his  grave. 

W.  Cowper 

*  c  * 

THE  WOUNDED  HARE 

Inhuman  man  !  curse  on  thy  barbarous  art, 
And  blasted  be  thy  murder-aiming  eye  ; 
May  never  pity  soothe  thee  with  a  sigh, 

Nor  ever  pleasure  glad  thy  cruel  heart ! 

29  moons,  months        34  beguile,  cheat 
1  inhuman,  cruel  ;  barbarous  art,  shooting  for  sport's  sake 


8  The  Children's  Treasury 

— Go,  live,  poor  wanderer  of  the  wood  and  field, 
The  bitter  little  that  of  life  remains  ; 
No  more  the  thickening  brakes  and  verdant  plains 

To  thee  shall  home,  or  food,  or  pastime  yield. 

Seek,  mangled  wretch,  some  place  of  wonted  rest, 
No  more  of  rest,  but  now  thy  dying  bed  ! 
The  sheltering  rushes  whistling  o'er  thy  head, 

The  cold  earth  with  thy  bloody  bosom  prest. 

Oft  as  by  winding  Nith,  I,  musing,  wait 
The  sober  eve,  or  hail  the  cheerful  dawn, 
I'll  miss  thee  sporting  o'er  the  dewy  lawn, 

And  curse  the  ruffian's  aim,  and  mourn  thy  hapless 
fate.  ft-  Burns 


TO  A  SPANIEL  ON  HIS  KILLING  A   YOUNG  BIRD 

A  spaniel,  Beau,  that  fares  like  you, 

Well  fed,  and  at  his  ease, 
Should  wiser  be  than  to  pursue 

Each  trifle  that  he  sees. 

But  you  have  kill'd  a  tiny  bird, 

Which  flew  not  till  to-day, 
Against  my  orders,  whom  you  heard 

Forbidding  you  the  prey. 

Nor  did  you  kill  that  you  might  eat, 

And  ease  a  doggish  pain, 
For  him,  though  chased  with  furious  heat, 

You  left  where  he  was  slain. 

9  wonted,  where  he  had  been  before        13  Nith,  river  in  Ayrshire 
7  thickening,  growing  leafier 


of  English  Song 

Nor  was  he  of  the  thievish  sort, 
Or  one  whom  blood  allures, 

But  innocent  was  all  his  sport 
Whom  you  have  torn  for  yours. 

My  dog  !  what  remedy  remains, 
Since,  teach  you  all  I  can, 

I  see  you  after  all  my  pains 
So  much  resemble  man  ? 


Beau's  Reply 

Sir,  when  I  flew  to  seize  the  bird 

In  spite  of  your  command, 
A  louder  voice  than  yours  I  heard, 

And  harder  to  withstand. 

You  cried — forbear  ! — but  in  my  breast 

A  mightier  cried — proceed  ! 
'Twas  Nature,  Sir,  whose  strong  behest 

Impell'd  me  to  the  deed. 

Yet,  much  as  Nature  I  respect, 

I  ventured  once  to  break 
(As  you,  perhaps,  may  recollect) 

Her  precept  for  your  sake  ; 

And  when  your  linnet,  on  a  day, 

Passing  his  prison  door, 
Had  flutter'd  all  his  strength  away, 

And,  panting,  press'd  the  floor  ; 

Well  knowing  him  a  sacred  thing, 

Not  destined  to  my  tooth, 
I  only  kiss'd  his  ruffled  wing, 

And  lick'd  the  feathers  smooth. 

14  allures,  tempts         17  remedy,  cure  27  behest,  command 

28  impelVd,  drove        32  precept,  order         38  destined,  meant  for 


io  The  Children's  Treasury 

Let  my  obedience  then  excuse 

My  disobedience  now, 
Nor  some  reproof  yourself  refuse 

From  your  aggrieved  Bow-wow  ; 

If  killing  birds  be  such  a  crime 

(Which  I  can  hardly  see), 
What  think  you,  Sir,  of  killing  time, 

With  verse  address'd  to  me  ? 

IV.  Cowper 

*  J  * 
THE  BLIND  BOY 

0  SAY  what  is  that  thing  call'd  Light, 
Which  I  must  ne'er  enjoy ; 

What  are  the  blessings  of  the  Sight : 
O  tell  your  poor  blind  boy  ! 

You  talk  of  wondrous  things  you  see  ; 
You  say  the  sun  shines  bright  ; 

1  feel  him  warm,  but  how  can  he 

Or  make  it  day  or  night  ? 

My  day  or  night  myself  I  make 

Whene'er  I  sleep  or  play  ; 
And  could  I  ever  keep  awake 

With  me  'twere  always  day. 

With  heavy  sighs  I  often  hear 
You  mourn  my  hapless  woe  ; 

But  sure  with  patience  I  can  bear 
A  loss  I  ne'er  can  know. 

Then  let  not  what  I  cannot  have 

My  cheer  of  mind  destroy  : 
Whilst  thus  I  sing,  I  am  a  king, 

Although  a  poor  blind  boy. 

C.  Cibber 

44  aggrieved,  vexed     47  killing,  wasting     14  hapless,  unhappy 


of  English  Song  1 1 


ALICE  FELL 

The  post-boy  drove  with  fierce  career, 

For  threatening  clouds  the  moon  had  drown'd  ; 

When,  as  we  hurried  on,  my  ear 

Was  smitten  with  a  startling  sound. 

As  if  the  wind  blew  many  ways, 
I  heard  the  sound, — and  more  and  more  j 
It  seem'd  to  follow  with  the  chaise, 
And  still  I  heard  it  as  before. 

At  length  I  to  the  boy  call'd  out  ; 
He  stopp'd  his  horses  at  the  word, 
But  neither  cry,  nor  voice,  nor  shout, 
Nor  aught  else  like  it,  could  be  heard. 

The  boy  then  smack'd  his  whip,  and  fast 
The  horses  scamper'd  through  the  rain  ; 
But  hearing  soon  upon  the  blast 
The  cry,  I  bade  him  halt  again. 

Forthwith  alighting  on  the  ground, 

'  Whence  comes,'  said  I,  '  this  piteous  moan  ? ' 

And  there  a  little  girl  I  found, 

Sitting  behind  the  chaise  alone. 

'  My  cloak  ! '  no  other  word  she  spake, 
But  loud  and  bitterly  she  wept, 
As  if  her  innocent  heart  would  break  ; 
And  down  from  off  her  seat  she  leapt. 

'What  ails  you,  child?'— she  sobb'd,  'Look 

here ! ' 
I  saw  it  in  the  wheel  entangled, 
A  weather-beaten  rag  as  e'er 
From  any  garden  scarecrow  dangled. 


12  The  Children's  Treasury 

There,  twisted  between  nave  and  spoke, 
It  hung,  nor  could  at  once  be  freed  ; 
But  our  joint  pains  unloosed  the  cloak, 
A  miserable  rag  indeed  ! 

'  And  whither  are  you  going,  child, 
'  To-night,  along  these  lonesome  ways  ?  ' 
'  To  Durham,'  answer"d  she,  half  wild — 
'  Then  come  with  me  into  the  chaise.' 

Insensible  to  all  relief 
Sat  the  poor  girl,  and  forth  did  send 
Sob  after  sob,  as  if  her  grief 
Could  never,  never  have  an  end. 

'  My  child,  in  Durham  do  you  dwell  ? ' 
She  check'd  herself  in  her  distress, 
And  said,  '  My  name  is  Alice  Fell ; 
'  I'm  fatherless  and  motherless. 

'  And  I  to  Durham,  Sir,  belong.' 
Again,  as  if  the  thought  would  choke 
Her  very  heart,  her  grief  grew  strong  ; 
And  all  was  for  her  tatter'd  cloak. 

The  chaise  drove  on  ;  our  journey's  end 
Was  nigh  ;  and,  sitting  by  my  side, 
As  if  she  had  lost  her  only  friend, 
She  wept,  nor  would  be  pacified. 

Up  to  the  tavern-door  we  post  : 
Of  Alice  and  her  grief  I  told, 
And  I  gave  money  to  the  host, 
To  buy  a  new  cloak  for  the  old. 

'  And  let  it  be  of  duffil  gray, 
'  As  warm  a  cloak  as  man  can  sell ! ' 
— Proud  creature  was  she  the  next  day, 
The  little  orphan,  Alice  Fell ! 

W.  Wordsworth 

52  Jiacified,  quieted        57  duffil,  strong  shaggy  cloth 


of  English  Song  13 

*  9  * 

THE  LITTLE  GIRL  LOST 

In  the  southern  clime, 
Where  the  summer's  prime 
Never  fades  away, 
Lovely  Lyca  lay. 

Seven  summers  old 
Lovely  Lyca  told  ; 
She  had  wandered  long, 
Hearing  wild-birds'  song. 

'  Sweet  sleep,  come  to  me 
'  Underneath  this  tree  ! 
'  Do  father,  mother,  weep  ? 
'  Where  can  Lyca  sleep  ? 

'  Lost  in  desert  wild 
'  Is  your  little  child  ! 
'  How  can  Lyca  sleep 
'  If  her  mother  weep  ? 

'  If  her  heart  does  ache 
'  Then  let  Lyca  wake  : — 
'  If  my  mother  sleep, 
'  Lyca  shall  not  weep. 

'  Frowning,  frowning,  night 
'  O'er  this  desert  bright, 
'  Let  thy  moon  arise 
'  While  I  close  my  eyes  ! ' 

Sleeping  Lyca  lay  : 
While  the  beasts  of  prey 
Come  from  caverns  deep, 
View'd  the  maid  asleep. 

The  kingly  lion  stood, 
And  the  virgin  view'd  : 
Then  he  gamboll'd  round 
O'er  the  hallowM  ground. 


14  The  Children's  Treasury 

Leopards,  tigers,  play 
Round  her  as  she  lay  ; 
While  the  lion  old 
Bow'd  his  mane  of  gold, 

And  [did]  her  bosom  lick ; 
And  upon  her  neck 
From  his  eyes  of  flame 
Ruby  tears  there  came  : 

While  the  lioness 
Loosed  her  slender  dress  ; 
And  naked  they  convey'd 
To  caves  the  sleeping  maid. 


THE  LITTLE  GIRL  FOUND 

All  the  night  in  woe 
Lyca's  parents  go, 
Over  valleys  deep, 
While  the  deserts  weep. 

Tired  and  woe-begone, 
Hoarse  with  making  moan, 
Arm-in-arm  seven  days 
They  traced  the  desert  ways. 

Seven  nights  they  sleep 
Among  shadows  deep, 
And  dream  they  see  their  child 
Starved  in  desert  wild. 

Pale  through  pathless  ways 
The  fancied  image  strays, 
Famish'd,  weeping,  weak, 
With  hollow  piteous  shriek 


of  English  Song  1 5 

Rising  from  unrest 
The  trembling  woman  press'd 
With  feet  of  weary  woe  : 
She  could  no  further  go. 

In  his  arms  he  bore 

Her,  arm'd  with  sorrow  sore  ; 

Till  before  their  way 

A  couching  lion  lay. 

Turning  back  was  vain  : 
Soon  his  heavy  mane 
Bore  them  to  the  ground  ; 
Then  he  stalk'd  around 

Smelling  to  his  prey  ; 
But  their  fears  allay, 
When  he  licks  their  hands, 
And  silent  by  them  stands. 

They  look  upon  his  eyes, 
Fill'd  with  deep  surprise  ; 
And  wondering  behold 
A  spirit  arm'd  in  gold. 

On  his  head  a  crown  : 
On  his  shoulders  down 
Flow'd  his  golden  hair ! 
Gone  was  all  their  care. 

'  Follow  me/  he  said  ; 
'  Weep  not  for  the  maid  ; 
'  In  my  palace  deep 
'  Lyca  lies  asleep.' 

Then  they  followed 
Where  the  vision  led, 
And  saw  their  sleeping  child 
Among  tigers  wild. 


1 6  The  Children's  Treasury 

To  this  day  they  dwell 
In  a  lonely  dell  ; 
Nor  fear  the  wolvish  howl, 
Nor  the  lions'  growl. 


W.  Blake 


*IO* 

JOHN  GILPIN 

John  Gilpin  was  a  citizen 

Of  credit  and  renown, 
A  train-band  captain  eke  was  he 

Of  famous  London  Town. 

John  Gilpin's  spouse  said  to  her  dear, 
'  Though  wedded  we  have  been 

'  These  twice  ten  tedious  years,  yet  we 
'  No  holiday  have  seen. 

■'  To-morrow  is  our  wedding-day, 

'  And  we  will  then  repair 
'  Unto  the  Bell  at  Edmonton, 

'  All  in  a  chaise  and  pair. 

'  My  sister  and  my  sister's  child, 
'  Myself,  and  children  three, 

'  Will  fill  the  chaise  ;  so  you  must  ride 
'  On  horseback  after  we.' 

He  soon  replied,  '  I  do  admire 

'  Of  womankind  but  one, 
And  you  are  she,  my  dearest  dear, 
'  Therefore  it  shall  be  done. 

3  train-band,  militia 


of  English  Song.  \  y 

'  I  am  a  linendraper  bold, 

'  As  all  the  world  doth  know, 
'  And  my  good  friend,  the  Calender, 

'  Will  lend  his  horse  to  go.' 

Quoth  Mistress  Gilpin,  '  That's  well  said  ; 

'  And,  for  that  wine  is  dear, 
'  We  will  be  furnish'd  with  our  own, 

'  Which  is  both  bright  and  clear.' 

John  Gilpin  kiss'd  his  loving  wife  ; 

O'erjoy'd  was  he  to  find 
That,  though  on  pleasure  she  was  bent, 

She  had  a  frugal  mind. 

The  morning  came,  the  chaise  was  brought, 

But  yet  was  not  allowed 
To  drive  up  to  the  door,  lest  all 

Should  say  that  she  was  proud. 

So  three  doors  off  the  chaise  was  stay'd, 

Where  they  did  all  get  in, 
Six  precious  souls,  and  all  agog 

To  dash  through  thick  and  thin. 

Smack  went  the  whip,  round  went  the  wheels  ; 

Were  never  folks  so  glad  : 
The  stones  did  rattle  underneath, 

As  if  Cheapside  were  mad. 

John  Gilpin,  at  his  horse's  side, 

Seized  fast  the  flowing  mane, 
And  up  he  got,  in  haste  to  ride, 

But  soon  came  down  again  ; 

For  saddle-tree  scarce  reach'd  had  he, 

His  journey  to  begin, 
When,  turning  round  his  head,  he  saw 

Three  customers  come  in. 

23  Calender,  cloth-dresser        44  a  street  in  London 
49  saddle-tree,  bow  of  the  saddle 

C 


1 8  The  Children 's  Treasury 

So  down  he  came  ;  for  loss  of  time 
Although  it  grieved  him  sore, 

Yet  loss  of  pence,  full  well  he  knew, 
Would  trouble  him  much  more. 

'Twas  long  before  the  customers 

Were  suited  to  their  mind, 
When  Betty,  screaming,  came  downstairs, 

1  The  wine  is  left  behind  ! ' 

'  Good  lack  ! '  quoth  he,  '  yet  bring  it  me, 

'  My  leathern  belt  likewise, 
'  In  which  I  bear  my  trusty  sword 

'  When  I  do  exercise.' 

Now  Mistress  Gilpin  (careful  soul  !) 
Had  two  stone-bottles  found, 

To  hold  the  liquor  that  she  loved, 
And  keep  it  safe  and  sound. 

Each  bottle  had  a  curling  ear, 
Through  which  the  belt  he  drew, 

And  hung  a  bottle  on  each  side, 
To  make  his  balance  true. 

Then  over  all,  that  he  might  be 

Equipp'd  from  top  to  toe, 
His  long  red  cloak,  well-brush'd  and  neat, 

He  manfully  did  throw. 

Now  see  him  mounted  once  again 

Upon  his  nimble  steed, 
Full  slowly  pacing  o'er  the  stones, 

With  caution  and  good  heed. 

But  finding  soon  a  smoother  road 

Beneath  his  well-shod  feet, 
The  snorting  beast  began  to  trot, 

Which  gall'd  him  in  his  seat. 

64  as  a  soldier        74  equipped,  dressed  out 


of  English  Song  ig 

So,  '  Fair  and  softly  ! '  John  he  cried, 

But  John  he  cried  in  vain  ; 
That  trot  became  a  gallop  soon, 

In  spite  of  curb  and  rein. 

So  stooping  down,  as  needs  he  must 

Who  cannot  sit  upright, 
He  grasp'd  the  mane  with  both  his  hands, 

And  eke  with  all  his  might. 

His  horse,  who  never  in  that  sort 

Had  handled  been  before, 
What  thing  upon  his  back  had  got 

Did  wonder  more  and  more. 

Away  went  Gilpin,  neck  or  nought ; 

Away  went  hat  and  wig  ; 
He  little  dreamt,  when  he  set  out, 

Of  running  such  a  rig. 

The  wind  did  blow,  the  cloak  did  fly, 

Like  streamer  long  and  gay, 
Till  loop  and  button  failing  both, 

At  last  it  flew  away. 

Then  might  all  people  well  discern 

The  bottles  he  had  slung  ; 
A  bottle  swinging  at  each  side, 

As  hath  been  said  or  sung. 

The  dogs  did  bark,  the  children  scream'd, 

Up  flew  the  windows  all  ; 
And  every  soul  cried  out — '  Well  done  ! ' 

As  loud  as  he  could  bawl. 

Away  went  Gilpin- — who  but  he  ? 

His  fame  soon  spread  around, 
'  He  carries  weight ;  he  rides  a  race  ! 

'  'Tis  for  a  thousand  pound  ! ' 

92  eke,  also 

C  2 


20  The  ChildrerCs  Treasury 

And  still  as  fast  as  he  drew  near, 

'Twas  wonderful  to  view 
How  in  a  trice  the  turnpike  men 

Their  gates  wide  open  threw. 

And  now,  as  he  went  bowing  down 

His  reeking  head  full  low, 
The  bottles  twain  behind  his  back 

Were  shatter'd  at  a  blow. 

Down  ran  the  wine  into  the  road, 

Most  piteous  to  be  seen, 
Which  made  his  horse's  flanks  to  smoke 

As  they  had  basted  been. 

But  still  he  seem'd  to  carry  weight, 

With  leathern  girdle  braced  ; 
For  all  might  see  the  bottle-necks 

Still  dangling  at  his  waist. 

Thus  all  through  merry  Islington 

These  gambols  he  did  play, 
Until  he  came  unto  the  Wash 

Of  Edmonton  so  gay  ; 

And  there  he  threw  the  Wash  about 

On  both  sides  of  the  way, 
Just  like  unto  a  trundling  mop, 

Or  a  wild  goose  at  play. 

At  Edmonton  his  loving  wife 

From  the  balcdny  spied 
Her  tender  husband,  wondering  much 

To  see  how  he  did  ride. 

'  Stop,  stop,  John  Gilpin  ! — Here's  the  house' — 

They  all  at  once  did  cry  ; 
'  The  dinner  waits,  and  we  are  tired  ; ' 

Said  Gilpin,  '  So  am  I  ! ' 

119  trice,  moment        122  reeking,  steaming        128  with  gravy 


of  English  Song  21 

But  yet  his  horse  was  not  a  whit 

Inclined  to  tarry  there  ; 
For  why  ?  his  owner  had  a  house 

Full  ten  miles  off,  at  Ware. 

So  like  an  arrow  swift  he  flew, 

Shot  by  an  archer  strong  ; 
So  did  he  fly — which  brings  me  to 

The  middle  of  my  song. 

Away  went  Gilpin,  out  of  breath, 

And  sore  against  his  will, 
Till  at  his  friend  the  Calender's 

His  horse  at  last  stood  still. 

The  Calender,  amazed  to  see 

His  neighbour  in  such  trim, 
Laid  down  his  pipe,  flew  to  the  gate, 

And  thus  accosted  him. 

'  What  news  ?  what  news  ?  your  tidings  tell ! 

'  Tell  me  you  must  and  shall — 
'  Say,  why  bare-headed  you  are  come, 

'  Or  why  you  come  at  all  ? ' 

Now  Gilpin  had  a  pleasant  wit, 

And  loved  a  timely  joke  ; 
And  thus  unto  the  Calender 

In  merry  guise  he  spoke  : 

1 1  came,  because  your  horse  would  come  ; 

'And,  if  I  well  forbode, 
'  My  hat  and  wig  will  soon  be  here, 

'  They  are  upon  the  road.' 

The  Calender,  right  glad  to  find 

His  friend  in  merry  pin, 
Return'd  him  not  a  single  word, 

But  to  the  house  went  in  ; 

149  whit,  bit       164  accosted,  spoke  to        17 4.  forbode ;  prophecy 
178  pin,  humour 


2  The  Children's  Treasury 

Whence  straight  he  came,  with  hat  and  wig, 

A  wig  that  fiow'd  behind  ; 
A  hat  not  much  the  worse  for  wear  ; 

Each  comely  in  its  kind. 

He  held  them  up,  and  in  his  turn 

Thus  show'd  his  ready  wit  : 
'  My  head  is  twice  as  big  as  yours, 

'  They  therefore  needs  must  fit. 

'  But  let  me  scrape  the  dirt  away, 

'  That  hangs  upon  your  face  ; 
'  And  stop  and  eat,  for  well  you  may 

'  Be  in  a  hungry  case.' 

Said  John,  '  It  is  my  wedding-day, 
'  And  all  the  world  would  stare, 

'  If  wife  should  dine  at  Edmonton, 
'And  I  should  dine  at  Ware  ! ' 

So,  turning  to  his  horse,  he  said, 

'  I  am  in  haste  to  dine  ; 
'  'Twas  for  your  pleasure  you  came  here, 

'You  shall  go  back  for  mine.' 

Ah,  luckless  speech,  and  bootless  boast ! 

For  which  he  paid  full  dear ; 
For,  while  he  spake,  a  braying  ass 

Did  sing  most  loud  and  clear  ; 

Whereat  his  horse  did  snort,  as  he 

Had  heard  a  lion  roar, 
And  gallop'd  off  with  all  his  might, 

As  he  had  done  before. 

Away  went  Gilpin,  and  away 

Went  Gilpin's  hat  and  wig  ; 
He  lost  them  sooner  than  at  first, 

For  why? — they  were  too  big. 

201  bootless,  vain 


of  English  Song  23 

Now  Mistress  Gilpin,  when  she  saw 

Her  husband  posting  down 
Into  the  country  far  away, 

She  pull'd  out  half-a-crown  ; 

And  thus  unto  the  youth  she  said, 

That  drove  them  to  the  Bell, 
'  This  shall  be  yours,  when  you  bring  back 

'  My  husband  safe  and  well.' 

The  youth  did  ride,  and  soon  did  meet 

John  coming  back  amain  ; 
Whom  in  a  trice  he  tried  to  stop, 

By  catching  at  his  rein  ; 

But  not  performing  what  he  meant, 

And  gladly  would  have  done, 
The  frighten'd  steed  he  fnghten'd  more, 

And  made  him  faster  run. 

Away  went  Gilpin,  and  away 

Went  postboy  at  his  heels, 
The  postboy's  horse  right  glad  to  miss 

The  lumbering  of  the  wheels. 

Six  gentlemen  upon  the  road 

Thus  seeing  Gilpin  fly, 
With  postboy  scampering  in  the  rear, 

They  raised  the  hue  and  cry: — 

'  Stop  thief ! — stop  thief !  —a  highwayman  ! ' 

Not  one  of  them  was  mute  ; 
And  all  and  each  that  pass'd  that  way 

Did  join  in  the  pursuit. 

And  now  the  turnpike  gates  again 

Flew  open  in  short  space: 
The  toll-men  thinking  as  before 

That  Gilpin  rode  a  race. 


The  Children's  Treasury 

And  so  he  did,  and  won  it  too  ! 

For  he  got  first  to  town  ; 
Nor  stopp'd,  till  where  he  had  got  up 

He  did  again  get  down. 

—  Now  let  us  sing,  Long  live  the  King, 

And  Gilpin,  long  live  he  ; 
And,  when  he  next  doth  ride  abroad, 

May  I  be  there  to  see  ! 


W.  Cowper 


*  II  * 

WILLIAM   AND    MARGARET 

'Twas  at  the  silent,  solemn  hour 
When  night  and  morning  meet ; 

In  glided  Margaret's  grimly  ghost, 
And  stood  at  William's  feet. 

Her  face  was  like  an  April  morn, 

Clad  in  a  wintry  cloud  ; 
And  clay-cold  was  her  lily  hand, 

That  held  her  sable  shroud. 

So  shall  the  fairest  face  appear 
When  youth  and  years  are  flown  : 

Such  is  the  robe  that  kings  must  wear, 
When  death  has  reft  their  crown. 

Her  bloom  was  like  the  springing  flower, 

That  sips  the  silver  dew  ; 
The  rose  was  budded  in  her  cheek, 

Just  opening  to  the  view. 

But  love  had,  like  the  cankerworm, 

Consumed  her  early  prime: 
The  rose  grew  pale,  and  left  her  cheek  ; 

She  died  before  her  time. 

12  reft,  taken 


of  English  Song  25 

'Awake  !'  she  cried,  'thy  true  Love  calls, 
'  Come  from  her  midnight  grave  ; 

*  Now  let  thy  pity  hear  the  maid, 
'  Thy  love  refused  to  save  ! 

'  This  is  the  dumb  and  dreary  hour, 
'  When  injured  ghosts  complain  ; 

'  When  yawning  graves  give  up  their  dead, 
'  To  haunt  the  faithless  swain. 

'  Bethink  thee,  William,  of  thy  fault, 

'  Thy  pledge  and  broken  oath  ! 
'  And  give  me  back  my  maiden-vow, 

'  And  give  me  back  my  troth. 

'  Why  did  you  promise  love  to  me, 

'And  not  that  promise  keep? 
'  Why  did  you  swear  my  eyes  were  bright, 

'  Yet  leave  those  eyes  to  weep  ? 

'  How  could  you  say  my  face  was  fair, 

'  And  yet  that  face  forsake  ? 
'  How  could  you  win  my  virgin  heart, 

'  Yet  leave  that  heart  to  break  ? 

'  Why  did  you  say  my  lip  was  sweet, 

'  And  made  the  scarlet  pale  ? 
'  And  why  did  I,  young  witless  maid  ! 

'  Believe  the  flattering  tale  ? 

'  That  face,  alas  !  no  more  is  fair, 

'  Those  lips  no  longer  red  : 
'  Dark  are  my  eyes,  now  closed  in  death, 

'And  every  charm  is  fled. 

'  The  hungry  worm  my  sister  is  ; 

'  This  winding-sheet  I  wear  : 
'  And  cold  and  weary  lasts  our  night, 

'  Till  that  last  morn  appear. 

28  swain,  lover        32  troth,  promise        48  charm,  beauty 


26  The  Children's  Treasury 

'  But,  hark  !  the  cock  has  warn'd  me  hence  ; 

'  A  long  and  late  adieu  ! 
'  Come  see,  false  man,  how  low  she  lies 

'  Who  died  for  love  of  you  ! ' 

The  lark  sung  loud  ;  the  morning  smiled 

With  beams  of  rosy  red  : 
Pale  William  quaked  in  every  limb, 

And  raving  left  his  bed. 

He  hied  him  to  the  fatal  place 

Where  Margaret's  body  lay  ; 
And  stretch'd  him  on  the  green-grass  turf 

That  wrapp'd  her  breathless  clay. 

And  thrice  he  call'd  on  Margaret's  name, 

And  thrice  he  wept  full  sore  ; 
Then  laid  his  cheek  to  her  cold  grave, 

And  word  spake  never  more  ! 

D.  Mallet 


*  12  * 

THE   TRUE  SWEETHEART 

A  fair  maid  sat  at  her  bower-door, 

Wringing  her  lily  hands  ; 
And  by  it  came  a  sprightly  youth 

Fast  tripping  o'er  the  strands. 

'  Where  gang  ye,  young  John,'  she  says, 

'  Sae  early  in  the  day  ? 
'  It  gars  me  think,  by  your  fast  trip, 

'  Your  journey's  far  away.' 

He  turn'd  about  with  surly  look, 
And  said,  '  What's  that  to  thee  ? 

'  I'm  gaen'  to  see  a  lovely  maid 
'  Mair  fairer  far  than  ye.' 

54  adieu,  good-bye     5  gang.,  go     7  gars,  makes      12  mair,  more 


of  English  Song  27 

— '  False  Love,  and  hast  thou  play'd  me  this 
'  In  summer  among  the  flowers  ? 

'  I  will  repay  thee  back  again 
'  In  winter  among  the  showers. 

'  Unless  again,  again,  my  Love, 

'  Unless  you  turn  again  ; 
'  As  you  with  other  maidens  rove, 

'  I'll  smile  on  other  men.' 

— '  O  make  your  choice  of  whom  you  please, 

'  For  I  my  choice  will  have  ; 
'  I've  chosen  a  maid  mair  fair  than  thee, 

'  I  never  will  deceive.' 

She  kilted  up  her  clothing  fine, 

And  after  him  gaed  she  ; 
But  aye  he  said,  '  Turn  back,  turn  back, 

'  No  further  gang  with  me  ! ' 

' — But  again,  dear  Love,  and  again,  dear  Love, 

'  Will  ye  ne'er  love  me  again  ? 
'  Alas  for  loving  you  sae  weel, 

'  And  you  nae  me  again  ! ' 

The  firstan  town  that  they  came  till, 
He  bought  her  brooch  and  ring  ; 

But  aye  he  bade  her  turn  again, 
And  no  farther  gang  with  him. 

'  But  again,  dear  Love,  and  again,  dear  Love, 

'  Will  ye  ne'er  love  me  again  ? 
'  Alas  !  for  loving  you  sae  weel, 

'  And  you  nae  me  again  ! ' 

The  second  town  that  they  came  till, 

His  heart  it  grew  more  fain  ; 
And  he  was  as  deep  in  love  with  her 

As  she  with  him  again. 

25  kilted,  tucked     31  sae  weel,  so  well     33  firstan,  first  ;  till,     to 


28  The  Children's  Treasury 

The  neistan  town  that  they  came  till, 

He  bought  her  wedding-gown  ; 
And  made  her  lady  of  halls  and  bowers, 

In  bonny  Berwick  town. 

Unknown 

*  13  * 
THE  GA  Y  GOSH  A  WK 

1 0  well  is  me,  my  gay  goshawk, 
1  That  you  can  speak  and  flee  ; 

'  For  you  can  carry  a  love-letter 
'  To  my  true  Love  from  me.' 

— '  O  how  can  I  carry  a  letter  to  her  ? 

'  Or  how  should  I  her  know  ? 
'  1  bear  a  tongue  ne'er  with  her  spake, 

'  And  eyes  that  ne'er  her  saw.' 

— '  O  well  shall  ye  my  true  Love  ken 

'  So  soon  as  ye  her  see  : 
'  For  of  all  the  flowers  of  fair  England, 

'  The  fairest  flower  is  she. 

'  And  when  she  goes  into  the  house, 

'  Sit  ye  upon  the  whin  ; 
'  And  sit  you  there  and  sing  our  loves 

'  As  she  goes  out  and  in.' 

Lord  William  has  written  a  love-letter, 

Put  it  under  his  pinion  gray  : 
And  he's  awa'  to  Southern  land 

As  fast  as  wings  can  gae. 

And  first  he  sang  a  low,  low,  note, 

And  then  he  sang  a  clear  ; 
And  aye  the  o'erword  of  the  sang 

Was  '  Your  Love  can  no  win  here.' 

45  neistan,  next        1  goshawk,  large  hawk        14  whin,  furze-bush 
23  o'ei'word,  burden         24  no  win,  not  come 


of  English  Song  29 

'  Feast  on,  feast  on,  my  maidens  all, 

'  The  wine  flows  you  amang  ; 
'  While  I  gang  to  my  shot-window 

1  And  hear  yon  bonnie  bird's  sang.' 

O,  first  he  sang  a  merry  sang, 

And  then  he  sang  a  grave  : 
And  then  he  peck'd  his  feathers  gray  ; 

To  her  the  letter  gave. 

'  Have  there  a  letter  from  Lord  William  : 

'  He  says,  he  sent  ye  three  ; 
'  He  can  not  wait  your  love  longer, 

'  But  for  your  sake  he'll  die.' 

— '  I  send  him  the  rings  from  my  white  fingers, 

'  The  garlands  of  my  hair  ; 
'  I  send  him  the  heart  that's  in  my  breast  ; 

'  What  would  my  Love  have  mair  ? 
'  And  at  Mary's  kirk  in  fair  Scotland, 

'  Ye'll  bid  him  wait  for  me  there.' 

She  hied  her  to  her  father  dear 

As  fast  as  go  could  she  : 
'  An  asking,  an  asking,  my  father  dear, 

'  An  asking  grant  you  me  ! 
'  That  if  I  die  in  fair  England, 

'  In  Scotland  bury  me. 

'At  the  first  kirk  of  fair  Scotland, 

'  You  cause  the  bells  be  rung  ; 
'At  the  second  kirk  of  fair  Scotland, 

'  You  cause  the  mass  be  sung  ; 

1  And  when  ye  come  to  Saint  Mary's  kirk, 

'  Ye'll  tarry  there  till  night.' 
And  so  her  father  pledged  his  word, 

And  so  his  promise  plight. 

27  sJu>t-wind<ni<,  window  with  shutter     41  kirk,  church 
52  mass,  service       56  flight,  gave 


30  The  Children's   Treasury 

The  lady's  gone  to  her  chamber 

As  fast  as  she  could  fare  ; 
And  she  has  drunk  a  sleepy  draught 

That  she  had  mix'd  with  care. 

And  pale,  pale,  grew  her  rosy  cheek, 
And  pale  and  cold  was  she  : — 

She  seem'd  to  be  as  surely  dead 
As  any  corpse  could  be. 

Then  spake  her  cruel  stepminnie, 

'  Take  ye  the  burning  lead, 
'  And  drop  a  drop  on  her  bosom, 

1  To  try  if  she  be  dead.' 

They  dropp'd  the  hot  lead  on  her  cheek, 

They  dropp'd  it  on  her  chin, 
They  dropp'd  it  on  her  bosom  white  ; 

But  she  spake  none  again. 

Then  up  arose  her  seven  brethren, 

And  hew'd  to  her  a  bier  ; 
They  hew'd  it  from  the  solid  oak  ; 

Laid  it  o'er  with  silver  clear. 

The  first  Scots  kirk  that  they  came  to 

They  gart  the  bells  be  rung  ; 
The  next  Scots  kirk  that  they  came  to 

They  gart  the  mass  be  sung. 

But  when  they  came  to  Saint  Mary's  kirk, 
There  stood  spearmen  in  a  row  ; 

And  up  and  started  Lord  William, 
The  chieftain  among  them  a'. 

He  rent  the  sheet  upon  her  face 

A  little  above  her  chin  : 
With  rosy  cheek,  and  ruby  lip, 

She  look'd  and  laugh'd  to  him. 

58  fare,  go        65  minnie,  mother        78  gart,  made        84  a',  all 


of  English  Song  31 

— '  A  morsel  of  your  bread,  my  lord  ! 

'  And  one  glass  of  your  wine  ! 
'  For  I  have  fasted  these  three  long  days 

'  All  for  your  sake  and  mine  ! ' 

Unknown 

*  14* 

THE  MARINERS  OF  ENGLAND 

Ye  Mariners  of  England 

That  guard  our  native  seas  ! 

Whose  flag  has  braved,  a  thousand  years, 

The  battle  and  the  breeze  ! 

Your  glorious  standard  launch  again 

To  match  another  foe  : 

And  sweep  through  the  deep, 

While  the  stormy  winds  do  blow  ; 

While  the  battle  rages  loud  and  long 

And  the  stormy  winds  do  blow. 

The  spirits  of  your  fathers 
Shall  start  from  every  wave — 
For  the  deck  it  was  their  field  of  fame, 
And  Ocean  was  their  grave  : 
Where  Blake  and  mighty  Nelson  fell 
Your  manly  hearts  shall  glow, 
As  ye  sweep  through  the  deep, 
While  the  stormy  winds  do  blow  ; 
While  the  battle  rages  loud  and  long 
And  the  stormy  winds  do  blow. 

Britannia  needs  no  bulwarks, 

No  towers  along  the  steep  ; 

Her  march  is  o'er  the  mountain  waves, 

Her  home  is  on  the  deep. 

With  thunders  from  her  native  oak 

She  quells  the  floods  below — 

5  standard,  flag  of  England        15  Blake,  admiral  under  the  Com- 
monwealth      21  Our  island  needs  no  coast  fortifications 


32  The  Children's  Treasury 

As  they  roar  on  the  shore, 
When  the  stormy  winds  do  blow  ; 
When  the  battle  rages  loud  and  long, 
And  the  stormy  winds  do  blow. 

The  meteor-flag  of  England 

Shall  yet  terrific  burn  ; 

Till  danger's  troubled  night  depart 

And  the  star  of  peace  return. 

Then,  then,  ye  ocean-warriors  ! 

Our  song  and  feast  shall  flow 

To  the  fame  of  your  name, 

When  the  storm  has  ceased  to  blow  ; 

When  the  fiery  fight  is  heard  no  more, 

And  the  storm  has  ceased  to  blow. 

T.  Campbell 

*  15  * 
BEFORE  BA  TTLE 

The  signal  to  engage  shall  be 

A  whistle  and  a  hollo  ; 
Be  one  and  all  but  firm,  like  me, 
And  conquest  soon  will  follow  ! 
You,  Gunnel,  keep  the  helm  in  hand — 

Thus,  thus,  boys  !  steady,  steady 
Till  right  a-head  you  see  the  land, — 
Then  soon  as  we  are  ready, 
— The  signal  to  engage  shall  be 

A  whistle  and  a  hollo  ; 
Be  one  and  all  but  firm,  like  me, 
And  conquest  soon  will  follow  ! 

Keep,  boys,  a  good  look  out,  d'ye  hear  ? 

'Tis  for  Old  England's  honour  ; 
Just  as  you  brought  your  lower  tier 

Broad-side  to  bear  upon  her, 

31  meteor-flag,  streaming  like  a  flying  star     15  tier,  a  row  of  cannon 
16  bear  upon,  be  pointed  towards 


of  English  Song.  33 

— The  signal  to  engage  shall  be 

A  whistle  and  a  hollo  ; 
Be  one  and  all  but  firm,  like  me, 

And  conquest  soon  will  follow  ! 

All  hands  then,  lads,  the  ship  to  clear  ; 

Load  all  your  guns  and  mortars  ; 
Silent  as  death  th'  attack  prepare  ; 
And,  when  you're  all  at  quarters, 
— The  signal  to  engage  shall  be 

A  whistle  and  a  hollo ; 
Be  one  and  all  but  firm,  like  me, 
And  conquest  soon  will  follow  ! 

C.  Dibdin 

*  l6  * 

CASABIANCA  V 
A  True  Story 

The  boy  stood  on  the  burning  deck, 

Whence  all  but  he  had  fled ; 
The  flame  that  lit  the  battle's  wreck, 

Shone  round  him  o'er  the  dead  ; 
Yet  beautiful  and  bright  he  stood 

As  born  to  rule  the  storm  ! 
A  creature  of  heroic  blood, 

A  proud,  though  child-like  form  ! 

The  flames  roll'd  on — he  would  not  go 

Without  his  Father's  word  ; 
That  Father,  faint  in  death  below, 

His  voice  no  longer  heard. 
He  call'd  aloud  :  '  Say,  father,  say 

'  If  yet  my  task  is  done  ! ' 
He  knew  not  that  the  chieftain  lay 

Unconscious  of  his  son. 

22    mortars,  guns  to  shoot  bombs      7  heroic,  noble      15   chieftain 
admiral  in  command 

D 


34  The  Children's  Treasury 

1  Speak,  father  ! '  once  again  he  cried, 

*  If  I  may  yet  be  gone  ! ' 
And  but  the  boorrfing  shots  replied, 

And  fast  the  flames  roll'd  on. 
Upon  his  brow  he  felt  their  breath, 

And  in  his  waving  hair  ; 
And  look'd  from  that  lone  post  of  death 

In  still,  yet  brave  despair  ; 

And  shouted  but  once  more  aloud, 

'  My  father  !  must  I  stay  ? ' 
While  o'er  him  fast  through  sail  and  shroud 

The  wreathing  fires  made  way. 
They  wrapt  the  ship  in  splendour  wild, 

They  caught  the  flag  on  high, 
And  stream'd  above  the  gallant  child 

Like  banners  in  the  sky. 

There  came  a  burst  of  thunder-sound — 

The  boy — O  !  where  was  he  ? 
— Ask  of  the  winds  that  far  around 

With  fragments  strew'd  the  sea, 
With  mast,  and  helm,  and  pennon  fair, 

That  well  had  borne  their  part  ; 
But  the  noblest  thing  which  perish'd  there 

Was  that  young  faithful  heart  ! 

F.  Hematis 

THE  LOSS  OF  THE  BIRKEXHEAD: 
Supposed  to  be  told  by>  a  Soldier  w)w  sunived 

RIGHT  on  our  flank  the  crimson  sun  went  down  ; 
The  deep  sea  roll'd  around  in  dark  repose  ; 
When,   like   the  wild  shriek  from  some  captured 
town. 
A  cry  of  women  rose. 

19  but,  only :  booming,  deep  soundine      37  pennon,  small  flag 
1  flank,  side     3  captured,  taker,  in  war 


of  English  Song.  35 

The  stout  ship  Birkenhead  lay  hard  and  fast, 
Caught  without  hope  upon  a  hidden  rock  ; 
Her  timbers  thrill'd  as  nerves,  when  through  them 
pass'd 
The  spirit  of  that  shock. 

And  ever  like  base  cowards,  who  leave  their  ranks 
In  danger's  hour,  before  the  rush  of  steel, 
Drifted  away  disorderly  the  planks 
From  underneath  her  keeL 

So  calm  the  air,  so  calm  and  still  the  flood, 
That  low  down  in  its  blue  translucent  glass 
We  saw  the  great  fierce  fish,  that  thirst  for  blood, 
Pass  slowly,  then  repass. 

They  taried,  the  waves  tarried,  for  their  prey  ! 
The  sea  turn'd  one  clear  smile  !     Like  things  asleep 
Those  dark  shapes  in  the  azure  silence  lay, 
As  quiet  as  the  deep. 

Then  amidst  oath,  and  prayer,  and  rush,  and  wreck, 
Faint  screams,  faint  questions  waiting  no  reply, 
Our  Colonel  gave  the  word,  and  on  the  deck 
Form'd  us  in  line  to  die. 

To  die ! — 'twas  hard,  whilst  the  sleek  ocean  glow'd 
Beneath  a  sky  as  fair  as  summer  flowers  : — 
All  to  the  boats  !  cried  one  : — he  was,  thank  God, 
No  officer  of  ours  ! 

Our  English  hearts  beat  true  : — we  would  not  stir  : 
That  base  appeal  we  heard,  but  heeded  not  : 
On  land,  on  sea,  we  had  our  Colours,  Sir, 
To  keep  without  a  spot  ! 

They  shall  not  say  in  England,  that  we  fought 
With  shameful  strength,  unhonour'd  life  to  seek  ; 
Into  mean  safety,  mean  deserters,  brought 
By  trampling  down  the  weak. 

10  rush  of  steel,  battle    14  translucent,  transparent     z$Jish,  sharks 

D  2 


36  The  Children's  Treasury 

So  we  made  women  with  their  children  go, 
The  oars  ply  back  again,  and  yet  again  ; 
Whilst,  inch  by  inch,  the  drowning  ship  sank  low, 
Still  under  steadfast  men. 

— What  follows,  why  recall  ? — The  brave  who  died, 
Died  without  flinching  in  the  bloody  surf, 
They  sleep  as  well,  beneath  that  purple  tide, 
As  others  under  turf :  — 

They  sleep   as  well !  and,  roused  from  their  wild 

grave, 
Wearing  their  wounds  like  stars,  shall  rise  again, 
Joint-heirs  with  Christ,  because  they  bled  to  save 
His  weak  ones,  not  in  vain. 

Sir  F.  H.  Doyle 

*  18* 

THE  '  NOR THER N  STAR' 

A  Tynemouth  Ship 

The  'Northern  Star' 
Sail'd  over  the  bar 
Bound  to  the  Baltic  Sea  ; 
In  the  morning  gray 
She  stretch'd  away  : — 
'Twas  a  weary  day  to  me ! 

For  many  an  hour 

In  sleet  and  shower 
By  the  lighthouse  rock  I  stray  ; 

And  watch  till  dark 

For  the  winge'd  bark 
Of  him  that  is  far  away. 

The  castle's  bound 
I  wander  round, 
Amidst  the  grassy  graves  : 

11  winged,  with  sails     15  Tynemouth  Castle,  used  as  a  graveyard 


of  English  Song.  37 

But  all  I  hear 
Is  the  north-wind  drear, 
And  all  I  see  are  the  waves. 

The  'Northern  Star' 

Is  set  afar  ! 
Set  in  the  Baltic  Sea  : 

And  the  waves  have  spread 

The  sandy  bed 
That  holds  my  Love  from  me. 

Unknown 

*  19* 
THE  ADMIRAL'S  GRAVE 

There  is  in  the  lone,  lone  sea 

A  spot  unmark'd  but  holy  ; 
For  there  the  gallant  and  the  free 

In  his  ocean-bed  lies  lowly. 

Down,  down,  beneath  the  deep 

That  oft  in  triumph  bore  him, 
He  sleeps  a  sound  and  peaceful  sleep 

With  the  wild  waves  dashing  o'er  him. 

He  sleeps  ! — he  sleeps  !  serene  and  safe 

From  tempest  and  from  billow, 
Where  storms  that  high  above  him  chafe 

Scarce  rock  his  peaceful  pillow. 

The  sea  and  him  in  death 

They  did  not  dare  to  sever  : 
It  was  his  home  when  he  had  breath  : 

'Tis  now  his  home  for  ever  ! 

Sleep  on,  sleep  on,  thou  mighty  dead  ! 

A  glorious  tomb  they've  found  thee  ; 
The  broad  blue  sky  above  thee  spread  : 

The  boundless  ocean  round  thee. 

Unknown 


38  The  Children's  Treasury 

*  20  * 
LOSS  OF   THE  ROYAL  GEORGE 

Toll  for  the  Brave  ! 
The  brave  that  are  no  more  ! 
All  sunk  beneath  the  wave 
Fast  by  their  native  shore  ! 

Eight  hundred  of  the  brave 
Whose  courage  well  was  tried, 
Had  made  the  vessel  heel 
And  laid  her  on  her  side. 

A  land-breeze  shook  the  shrouds 
And  she  was  overset  ; 
Down  went  the  Royal  George, 
With  all  her  crew  complete. 

Toll  for  the  brave  ! 
Brave  Kempenfelt  is  gone  ; 
His  last  sea-fight  is  fought, 
His  work  of  glory  done. 

It  was  not  in  the  battle  ; 
No  tempest  gave  the  shock  ; 
She  sprang  no  fatal  leak, 
She  ran  upon  no  rock 

His  sword  was  in  its  sheath, 
His  fingers  held  the  pen, 
When  Kempenfelt  went  down. 
With  twice  four  hundred  men. 

— Weigh  the  vessel  up 
Once  dreaded  by  our  foes  ! 
And  mingle  with  our  cup 
The  tears  that  England  owes. 

7  heel,  lean  over     9  shrouds,  mast  ropes     19  sprang,  opened 
25  weigh,  lift     27  cup,  rejoicing 


of  English  Song.  39 

Her  timbers  yet  are  sound, 

And  she  may  float  again 

Full  charged  with  England's  thunder, 

And  plough  the  distant  main  : 

But  Kempenfelt  is  gone, 
His  victories  are  o'er  ; 
And  he  and  his  eight  hundred 
Shall  plough  the  wave  no  more. 

W.  Cowper 

*  21  * 
THE  SAILOR'S  WIFE 

And  are  ye  sure  the  news  is  true  ? 

And  are  ye  sure  he's  weel  ? 
Is  this  a  time  to  think  o'  wark  ? 
Ye  jades,  lay  by  your  wheel  ; 
Is  this  the  time  to  spin  a  thread, 

When  Colin's  at  the  door  ? 
Reach  down  my  cloak.  I'll  to  the  quay, 
And  see  him  come  ashore. 

For  there's  nae  luck  about  the  house, 

There's  nae  luck  at  a'  ; 
There's  little  pleasure  in  the  house 
When  our  gudeman's  awa'. 

And  gie  to  me  my  bigonet, 

My  bishop's  satin  gown  ; 
For  I  maun  tell  the  bailie's  wife 

That  Colin's  in  the  town. 
My  Turkey  slippers  maun  gae  on, 

My  stockin's  pearly  blue  ; 
It's  a'  to  pleasure  our  gudeman, 

For  he's  baith  leal  and  true. 

31    thunder,   cannon     2  weel,  well     4  jades,   girls     10  at  a',  at  all 

12  gudeman,  master  of  the  house     13  bigonet,  little  cap      15  maun, 

must :  bailie,  magistrate     20  leal,  faithful 


4°  The  ChildrerCs  Treasury 

Rise,  lass,  and  mak  a  clean  fireside, 

Put  on  the  muckle  pot ; 
Gie  little  Kate  her  button  gown 

And  Jock  his  Sunday  coat ; 
And  mak  their  shoon  as  black  as  slaes, 

Their  hose  as  white  as  snaw  ; 
It's  a'  to  please  my  ain  gudeman, 

For  he's  been  long  awa'. 

There's  twa  fat  hens  upo'  the  coop 

Been  fed  this  month  and  mair  ; 
Mak  haste  and  thraw  their  necks  about, 

That  Colin  weel  may  fare  ; 
And  spread  the  table  neat  and  clean, 

Gar  ilka  thing  look  braw, 
For  wha  can  tell  how  Colin  fared 

When  he  was  far  awa'  ? 

Sae  true  his  heart,  sae  smooth  his  speech, 

His  breath  like  caller  air  ; 
His  very  foot  has  music  in't 

As  he  comes  up  the  stair  : — 
And  will  I  see  his  face  again  ? 

And  will  I  hear  him  speak  ? 
I'm  downright  dizzy  wi'  the  thought, 

In  troth  I'm  like  to  greet. 

If  Colin's  weel,  and  weel  content, 

I  hae  nae  mair  to  crave, 
And  gin  I  live  to  keep  him  sae, 

I'm  blest  aboon  the  lave  : 
And  will  I  see  his  face  again, 

And  will  I  hear  him  speak  ? 
I'm  downright  dizzy  wi'  the  thought, 

In  troth  I'm  like  to  greet. 

22  muckle,  big     25  slaes,   sloes      31  thraw,   twist    34  gar,  make : 

ilka,  every :  braw,  smart     38  caller,  fresh     44  greet,  cry     47£t",   if 

48  aboon  tfie  lave,  beyond  every  one  else 


of  English  Song.  41 

For  there's  nae  luck  about  the  house, 

There's  nae  luck  at  a' ; 
There's  little  pleasure  in  the  house 

When  our  gudeman's  awa'. 

W.  J.  Mickle 

*  22  * 

A  SEA  DIRGE 

FULL  fathom  five  thy  father  lies  : 
Of  his  bones  are  coral  made  ; 

Those  are  pearls  that  were  his  eyes  : 
Nothing  of  him  that  doth  fade, 

But  doth  suffer  a  sea-change 

Into  something  rich  and  strange  ; 

Sea-nymphs  hourly  ring  his  knell  : 

Hark  !  now  I  hear  them — 
Ding,  Dong,  Bell. 

W.  Shakespeare 

*  23  * 

A  LAND  DIRGE 

CALL  for  the  robin-redbreast  and  the  wren, 

Since  o'er  shady  groves  they  hover, 

And  with  leaves  and  flowers  do  cover 

The  friendless  bodies  of  unburied  men. 

Call  unto  his  funeral  dole 

The  ant,  the  field  mouse,  and  the  mole 

To  rear  him  hillocks  that  shall  keep  him  warm, 

And  (when  gay  tombs  are  robb'd)  sustain  no  harm: 

But  keep  the  wolf  far  thence,  that's  foe  to  men  : 

For  with  his  nails  he'll  dig  them  up  again. 

y.  Webster 

1  Full   five  fathoms  under  water      7  sea-nymphs,   fairies      8  gay, 
splendid     5  dole,  feast 


42  The  Children's  Treasury 

*  24  * 

THE  SOLITUDE  OF  ALEXANDER  SELKIRK 

I  AM  monarch  of  all  I  survey  ; 

My  right  there  is  none  to  dispute  ; 
From  the  centre  all  round  to  the  sea 

I  am  lord  of  the  fowl  and  the  brute. 

0  Solitude  !  where  are  the  charms 
That  sages  have  seen  in  thy  face  ? 

Better  dwell  in  the  midst  of  alarms 
Then  reign  in  this  horrible  place. 

1  am  out  of  humanity's  reach, 

I  must  finish  my  journey  alone, 
Never  hear  the  sweet  music  of  speech  ; 

I  start  at  the  sound  of  my  own. 
The  beasts  that  roam  over  the  plain 

My  form  with  indifference  see  ; 
They  are  so  unacquainted  with  man, 

Their  tameness  is  shocking  to  me. 

Society,  Friendship,  and  Love, 

Divinely  bestow'd  upon  man, 
O  had  I  the  wings  of  a  dove 

How  soon  would  I  taste  you  again  ! 
My  sorrows  I  then  might  assuage 

In  the  ways  of  religion  and  truth, 
Might  learn  from  the  wisdom  of  age, 

And  be  cheer'd  by  the  sallies  of  youth. 

Ye  winds  that  have  made  me  your  sport, 

Convey  to  this  desolate  shore 
Some  cordial  endearing  report 

Of  a  land  I  shall  visit  no  more  : — 
My  friends,  do  they  now  and  then  send 

A  wish  or  a  thought  after  me  ? 
O  tell  me  I  yet  have  a  friend, 

Though  a  friend  I  am  never  to  see  ! 

6  sages,  wise  people     9  humanity,  human  creatures    21  assuage,  heal 

24  salli  s,  lively  talk     27  report,  news 


of  English  Song.  43 

How  fleet  is  a  glance  of  the  mind  ! 

Compared  with  the  speed  of  its  flight, 
The  tempest  itself  lags  behind, 

And  the  swift-winged  arrows  of  light. 
When  I  think  of  my  own  native  land 

In  a  moment  I  seem  to  be  there  ; 
But  alas  !  recollection  at  hand 

Soon  hurries  me  back  to  despair. 

— But  the  seafowl  is  gone  to  her  nest, 

The  beast  is  laid  down  in  his  lair  ; 
Even  here  is  a  season  of  rest, 

And  I  to  my  cabin  repair. 
There's  mercy  in  every  place, 

And  mercy,  encouraging  thought  ! 
Gives  even  affliction  a  grace, 

And  reconciles  man  to  his  lot. 

W.  Cowper 

AT  SEA 

A  wet  sheet  and  a  flowing  sea, 

A  wind  that  follows  fast 
And  fills  the  white  and  rustling  sail 

And  bends  the  gallant  mast ; 
And  bends  the  gallant  mast,  my  boys, 

While  like  the  eagle  free 
Away  the  good  ship  flies,  and  leaves 

Old  England  on  the  lee. 

O  for  a  soft  and  gentle  wind  ! 

I  heard  a  fair  one  cry  ; 
But  give  to  me  the  snoring  breeze 

And  white  waves  heaving  high  ; 

33  glance,  thought     42  lair,  den     44  repair,  go      48  makes  us  con- 
tent with  life     1  sheet,  sail-ropes     8  he,  behind 


44  The  Children's  Treasury 

And  white  waves  heaving  high,  my  lads, 
The  good  ship  tight  and  free  : — 

The  world  of  waters  is  our  home, 
And  merry  men  are  we. 

There's  tempest  in  yon  horned  moon, 

And  lightning  in  yon  cloud  ; 
But  hark  the  music,  mariners  ! 

The  wind  is  piping  loud  ; 
The  wind  is  piping  loud,  my  boys, 

The  lightning  flashes  free — 
While  the  hollow  oak  our  palace  is, 

Our  heritage  the  sea. 

A.  Cunningham 

*  26  * 
SPRING 

Spring,  the  sweet  Spring,  is  the  year's  pleasant 

king; 
Then  blooms  each  thing,  then  maids  dance  in  a 

ring, 
Cold  doth  not  sting,  the  pretty  birds  do  sing, 
Cuckoo,  jug-jug,  pu-we,  to-witta-woo  ! 

The  palm  and  may  make  country  houses  gay, 
Lambs  frisk  and  play,  the  shepherds  pipe  all  day, 
And  we  hear  aye  birds  tune  this  merry  lay, 
Cuckoo,  jug-jug,  pu-we,  to-witta-woo. 

The  fields  breathe  sweet,  the  daisies  kiss  our  feet, 
Young  lovers  meet,  old  wives  a-sunning  sit, 
In  every  street  these  tunes  our  ears  do  greet, 
Cuckoo,  jug-jug,  pu-we,  to-witta-woo  ! 
Spring  !  the  sweet  Spring  ! 

T.  Nash 

17  horned,  new     23  oak,  ship     24  heritage,  proper  home 


of  English  Song.  45 

*  27  * 

COUNTRY  SCENES  IN  OLD  DAYS 
Day-break 

See  the  day  begins  to  break, 
And  the  light  shoots  like  a  streak 
Of  subtle  fire  ;  the  wind  blows  cold 
While  the  morning  doth  unfold  ; 
Now  the  birds  begin  to  rouse, 
And  the  squirrel  from  the  boughs 
Leaps,  to  get  him  nuts  and  fruit ; 
The  early  lark,  that  erst  was  mute, 
Carols  to  the  rising  day 
Many  a  note  and  many  a  lay. 

Unfolding  the  Flocks 

Shepherds,  rise,  and  shake  off  sleep — 
See  the  blushing  morn  doth  peep 
Through  the  windows,  while  the  sun 
To  the  mountain-tops  is  run, 
Gilding  all  the  vales  below 
With  his  rising  flames,  which  grow 
Greater  by  his  climbing  still. — 
Up  !  ye  lazy  swains  !  and  fill 
Bag  and  bottle  for  the  field  ; 
Clasp  your  cloaks  fast,  lest  they  yield 
To  the  bitter  north-east  wind. 
Call  the  maidens  up,  and  find 
Who  lies  longest,  that  she  may 
Be  chidden  for  untimed  delay. 
Feed  your  faithful  dogs,  and  pray 
Heaven  to  keep  you  from  decay  ; 
So  unfold,  and  then  away. 

Folding  the  Flocks 

Shepherds  all,  and  maidens  fair, 
Fold  your  flocks  up  ;  for  the  air 
'Gins  to  thicken,  and  the  sun 
Already  his  great  course  hath  run. 

3  subtle,  piercing     8  erst,  before     10  lay,  song     26  decay,  harm 
30  'gins,  begins 


46  The  Children's  Treasury 

See  the  dew-drops  how  they  kiss 

Every  little  flower  that  is  ; 

Hanging  on  their  velvet  heads, 

Like  a  rope  of  crystal  beads. 

See  the  heavy  clouds  low  falling, 

And  bright  Hesperus  down  calling 

The  dead  Night  from  underground  ; 

At  whose  rising,  mists  unsound, 

Damps  and  vapours,  fly  apace, 

Hovering  o'er  the  wanton  face 

Of  these  pastures,  where  they  come 

Striking  dead  both  bud  and  bloom  : 

Therefore  from  such  danger  lock 

Every  one  his  love"d  flock  ; 

And  let  your  dogs  lie  loose  without, 

Lest  the  wolf  come  as  a  scout 

From  the  mountain,  and  ere  day 

Bear  a  lamb  or  kid  away  ; 

Or  the  crafty,  thievish  fox 

Break  upon  your  simple  flocks. 

To  secure  yourself  from  these 

Be  not  too  secure  in  ease  ; 

So  shall  you  good  shepherds  prove, 

And  deserve  your  master's  love. 

Now,  good  night  !  may  sweetest  slumbers 

And  soft  silence  fall  in  numbers 

On  your  eye-lids  !  so  farewell ; 

— Thus  I  end  my  evening's  knell. 

J.  Fletcher 


THE  COUNTRY  LIFE 

Sweet  country  life,  to  such  unknown 
Whose  lives  are  others',  not  their  own, 
But,  serving  courts  and  cities,  be 
Less  happy,  less  enjoying  thee  : — 

7  Hesperus,  the  evening  star     39  unsound,  unhealthy     47  scout, 
sPy      53  secure,  careless      57  in  numbers,  musically,  softly 


of  English  Song.  47 

— Thou  never  plough'st  the  ocean's  foam 

To  seek  and  bring  rough  pepper  home  ; 

Nor  to  the  Eastern  Ind  dost  rove 

To  bring  from  thence  the  scorche'd  clove  ; 

Nor,  with  the  loss  of  thy  loved  rest, 

Bring'st  home  the  ingot  from  the  west  : 

No  !  thy  ambition's  masterpiece 

Flies  no  thought  higher  than  a  fleece  ; 

Or  how  to  pay  thy  hinds,  and  clear 

All  scores,  and  so  to  end  the  year  : 

But  walk'st  about  thine  own  dear  bounds, 

Not  envying  others'  larger  grounds  ; 

For  well  thou  know'st  'tis  not  the  extent 

Of  land  makes  life,  but  sweet  content. 

When  now  the  cock,  the  ploughman's  horn, 

Calls  forth  the  lily-wristed  morn, 

Then  to  thy  cornfields  thou  dost  go, 

Which  though  well  soil'd,  yet  thou  dost  know 

That  the  best  compost  for  the  lands 

Is  the  wise  master's  feet  and  hands  : 

There  at  the  plough  thou  find'st  thy  team, 

With  a  hind  whistling  there  to  them  ; 

And  cheer'st  them  up,  by  singing  how 

The  kingdom's  portion  is  the  plough  : 

This  done,  then  to  th'  enamell'd  meads 

Thou  go'st,  and  as  thy  foot  there  treads, 

Thou  seest  a  present  God-like  power 

Imprinted  in  each  herb  and  flower  ; 

And  smell'st  the  breath  of  great-eyed  kine 

Sweet  as  the  blossoms  of  the  vine  : 

Here  thou  behold'st  thy  large  sleek  neat 

Unto  the  dew-laps  up  in  meat ; 

And  as  thou  look'st,  the  wanton  steer, 

The  heifer,  cow,  and  ox  draw  near, 

To  make  a  pleasing  pastime  there  : — 

10  ingot,  gold  or  silver  bars      n  thy  highest  wish      17  extent,  size 
20  lily,  white    23  compost,  manure    29  enamelTd,  brightly-coloured 


48  The  Children's  Treasury 

These  seen,  thou  go'st  to  view  thy  flocks 
Of  sheep,  safe  from  the  wolf  and  fox, 
And  find'st  their  bellies  there  as  full 
Of  short  sweet  grass,  as  backs  with  wool ; 
And  leav'st  them,  as  they  feed  and  fill, 
A  shepherd  piping  on  a  hill. 
For  sports,  for  pageantry  and  plays, 
Thou  hast  thy  eves  and  holydays  ; 
On  which  the  young  men  and  maids  meet 
To  exercise  their  dancing  feet, 
Tripping  the  comely  country  round, 
With  daffodils  and  daisies  crown'd. 
Thy  wakes,  thy  quintels,  here  thou  hast, 
Thy  May-poles  too  with  garlands  graced, 
Thy  morris-dance,  thy  Whitsun-ale, 
Thy  shearing-feast,  which  never  fail, 
Thy  harvest  home,  thy  wassail  bowl, 
That's  toss'd  up  after  Fox'i'th'hole, 
Thy  mummeries,  thy  twelfth-tide  kings 
And  queens,  thy  Christmas  revellings, — 
Thy  nut-brown  mirth,  thy  russet  wit, 
And  no  man  pays  too  dear  for  it  : — 
To  these,  thou  hast  thy  times  to  go 
And  trace  the  hare  i'th'treacherous  snow  ; 
Thy  witty  wiles  to  draw,  and  get 
The  lark  into  the  trammel  net ; 
Thou  hast  thy  cockrood  and  thy  glade 
To  take  the  precious  pheasant  made ; 
Thy  lime-twigs,  snares,  and  pitfalls  then 
To  catch  the  pilfering  birds,  not  men. 

O  happy  life  !  if  that  their  good 
The  husbandmen  but  understood  ; 

46  pageantry,  shows       52  quintels,  a  game  in  which  poles  were  run 
at  a  post     54  morris,  mumming  56  wassail-bn-wl,  cup  of  old  ale 

57   Fox,    a   game  in  which   boys   hopped   and  flogged  each   other 
60  russet,  homely        62  Besides        64  witty,  clever       65  trammel, 
fowling     66  cockrood,  see  end 


of  English  Song  49 

Who  all  the  day  themselves  do  please 
And  younglings,  with  such  sports  as  these  ; 
And,  lying  down,  have  nought  t'affright 
Sweet  sleep,  that  makes  more  short  the  night. 

R.  Herrick 


*  2Q  * 
THE  PASSIONATE  SHEPHERD  TO  HIS  LOVE 

Come  live  with  me  and  be  my  Love, 
And  we  will  all  the  pleasures  prove 
That  hills  and  valleys,  dale  and  field, 
And  all  the  craggy  mountains  yield. 

There  will  we  sit  upon  the  rocks 
And  see  the  shepherds  feed  their  flocks, 
By  shallow  rivers,  to  whose  falls 
Melodious  birds  sing  madrigals. 

There  will  I  make  thee  beds  of  roses 
And  a  thousand  fragrant  posies, 
A  cap  of  flowers,  and  a  kirtle 
EmbroiderM  all  with  leaves  of  myrtle. 

A  gown  made  of  the  finest  wool, 
Which  from  our  pretty  lambs  we  pull, 
Fair  lindd  slippers  for  the  cold, 
With  buckles  of  the  purest  gold. 

A  belt  of  straw  and  ivy  buds 
With  coral  clasps  and  amber  studs  : 
And  if  these  pleasures  may  thee  move, 
Come  live  with  me  and  be  my  Love. 

Thy  silver  dishes  for  thy  meat 
As  precious  as  the  gods  do  eat, 
Shall  on  an  ivory  table  be 
Prepared  each  day  for  thee  and  me. 

8  madrigals,  short  songs  u  kirtle,  jacket 

E 


50  The  Childretis  Treasury 

The  shepherd  swains  shall  dance  and  sing 
For  thy  delight  each  May-morning  : 
If  these  delights  thy  mind  may  move, 
Then  live  with  me  and  be  my  Love. 

C.  Marlowe 

THE  REAPER 

Behold  her,  single  in  the  field, 
Yon  solitary  Highland  Lass  ! 
Reaping  and  singing  by  herself ; 
Stop  here,  or  gently  pass  ! 
Alone  she  cuts  and  binds  the  grain, 
And  sings  a  melancholy  strain  ; 

0  listen  !  for  the  vale  profound 
Is  overflowing  with  the  sound. 

No  nightingale  did  ever  chaunt 
More  welcome  notes  to  weary  bands 
Of  travellers,  in  some  shady  haunt 
Among  Arabian  sands  : 
No  sweeter  voice  was  ever  heard 
In  spring-time  from  the  cuckoo-bird, 
Breaking  the  silence  of  the  seas 
Among  the  farthest  Hebrides. 

Will  no  one  tell  me  what  she  sings  ? 
Perhaps  the  plaintive  numbers  flow 
For  old,  unhappy,  far-off  things, 
And  battles  long  ago  : 
Or  is  it  some  more  humble  lay, 
Familiar  matter  of  to-day  ? 
Some  natural  sorrow,  loss,  or  pain, 
That  has  been,  and  may  be  again  ? 

Whate'er  the  theme,  the  maiden  sang 
As  if  her  song  could  have  no  ending  ; 

1  saw  her  singing  at  her  work, 
And  o'er  the  sickle  bending  ; 

25  theme,  subject  of  her  song 


of  English  Song  5 1 

I  listen'd  till  I  had  my  fill  ; 
And  as  I  mounted  up  the  hill 
The  music  in  my  heart  I  bore 
Long  after  it  was  heard  no  more. 

W.    Wordsworth 

*3*  * 

NEW  AND  OLD 

Glad  sight,  wherever  new  with  old 

Is  join'd  through  some  dear  homeborn  tie  ; 

The  life  of  all  that  we  behold 

Depends  upon  that  mystery. 

Vain  is  the  glory  of  the  sky, 

The  beauty  vain  of  field  and  grove, 

Unless,  while  with  admiring  eye 

We  gaze,  we  also  learn  to  love. 

W.    Wordsworth 

*32* 

A  UTUMN 
A  Dirge 

The  warm  sun  is  failing,  the  bleak  wind  is  wailing, 
The  bare  boughs  are  sighing,  the  pale  flowers  are 
dying  ; 

And  the  year 
On  the  earth  her  death-bed,  in  a  shroud  of  leaves 
dead, 

Is  lying. 
Come,  Months,  come  away, 
From  November  to  May, 
In  your  saddest  array, — 
Follow  the  bier 
Of  the  dead  cold  year, 
And  like  dim  shadows  watch  by  her  sepulchre. 

8  array,  dress  n  sepulchre,  tomb 

E    2 


52  The  Children's  Treasury 

The  chill  rain  is  falling,  the  nipt  worm  is  crawling, 
The  rivers  are  swelling,  the  thunder  is  knelling, 

For  the  year ; 
The  blithe  swallows  are  flown,  and  the  lizards  each 
gone 

To  his  dwelling. 
Come,  Months,  come  away  ; 
Put  on  white,  black,  and  gray  ; 
Let  your  light  sisters  play  ; 
Ye,  follow  the  bier 
Of  the  dead  cold  year, 
And  make  her  grave  green  with  tear  on  tear. 

P.  B.  Shelley 

*33* 
THE  COUNTRYMAN 

What  pleasures  have  great  princes 

More  dainty  to  their  choice, 
Than  herdmen  wild,  who  careless 

In  quiet  life  rejoice  ; 
And  fortune's  favours  scorning, 
Sing  sweet  in  summer  morning. 

All  day  their  flocks  each  tendeth  ; 

At  night  they  take  their  rest  ; 
More  quiet  than  who  sendeth 

His  ship  into  the  east, 
Where  gold  and  pearl  are  plenty, 
But  getting  very  dainty. 

For  lawyers  and  their  pleading, 
They  'steem  it  not  a  straw  : — 

They  think  that  honest  meaning 
Is  of  itself  a  law  : 

Where  conscience  judgeth  plainly, 

They  spend  no  money  vainly. 

19  the  summer  months 
12  dainty,  difficult  14  'steem,  value 


of  English  Song  53 

O  happy  who  thus  liveth, 

Not  caring  much  for  gold  ; 
With  clothing,  which  surhceth 

To  keep  him  from  the  cold  : — 
Though  poor  and  plain  his  diet, 
Yet  merry  it  is  and  quiet. 

Unknown 

*  34* 

TO  A  MOUNTAIN  DAISY 

Wee,  modest,  crimson-tippe"d  flower, 
Thou's  met  me  in  an  evil  hour  ; 
For  I  maun  crush  amang  the  stour 

Thy  slender  stem  ; 
To  spare  thee  now  is  past  my  power, 

Thou  bonnie  gem. 

Alas  !  it's  no  thy  neebor  sweet, 
The  bonnie  lark,  companion  meet ! 
Bending  thee  'mang  the  dewy  weet 

Wi'  spreckled  breast, 
When  upward  springing,  blythe,  to  greet 

The  purpling  east. 
Cauld  blew  the  bitter-biting  north 
Upon  thy  early,  humble,  birth  ; 
Yet  cheerfully  thou  glinted  forth 

Amid  the  storm ; 
Scarce  reared  above  the  parent  earth 

Thy  tender  form. 
The  flaunting  flowers  our  gardens  yield 
High  sheltering  woods  and  wa's  maun  shield, 
But  thou  beneath  the  random  bield 

O'  clod  or  stane 
Adorns  the  histie  stibble-field, 

Unseen,  alane. 

3  7naun,  must  :  stour,  dust  7  no,  not :  neebor,  neighbour 

8  meet,  fit  9  weet,  wet  10  spreckled,  speckled 

12  purpling,  at  dawn  15  glinted,  glanced 

20  wa's,  walls     21  bield,  shelter  23  histie,  dry:  stibble,  stubble 


54  The  Children's  Treasury 

There,  in  thy  scanty  mantle  clad, 
Thy  snawy  bosom  sunward  spread, 
Thou  lifts  thy  unassuming  head 

In  humble  guise  ; 
But  now  the  share  uptears  thy  bed, 

And  low  thou  lies  ! 


R.  Burns 


*35* 

THE  WHIRL-BLAST 

A  WHIRL-BLAST  from  behind  the  hill 

Rush'd  o'er  the  wood  with  startling  sound ; 

Then — all  at  once  the  air  was  still, 

And  showers  of  hailstones  patter'd  round. 

Where  leafless  oaks  tower'd  high  above, 

I  sat  within  an  undergrove 

Of  tallest  hollies,  tall  and  green  ; 

A  fairer  bower  was  never  seen. 

From  year  to  year  the  spacious  floor 

With  wither'd  leaves  is  cover'd  o'er, 

And  all  the  year  the  bower  is  green  ; 
But  see  !  where'er  the  hailstones  drop 
The  wither'd  leaves  all  skip  and  hop  ; 
There's  not  a  breeze — no  breath  of  air — 
Yet  here,  and  there,  and  every  where 
Along  the  floor,  beneath  the  shade 
By  those  embowering  hollies  made, 
The  leaves  in  myriads  jump  and  spring, 
As  if  with  pipes  and  music  rare 
Some  Robin  Goodfellow  were  there, 
And  all  those  leaves,  in  festive  glee, 
Were  dancing  to  the  minstrelsy. 

W.    Wordsworth 

27  unassuming,  modest  28  guise,  manner 

20  Robin  Goodfellow,  a  fairy  22  minstrelsy,  music 


of  English  Song  55 

*36 


When  icicles  hang  by  the  wall, 

And  Dick  the  shepherd  blows  his  nail, 

And  Tom  bears  logs  into  the  hall, 
And  milk  comes  frozen  home  in  pail  ; 

When  blood  is  nipt,  and  ways  be  foul, 

Then  nightly  sings  the  staring  owl 
Tuwhoo ! 

Tuwhit  !  tuwhoo  !     A  merry  note  ! 

While  greasy  Joan  doth  keel  the  pot. 

When  all  around  the  wind  doth  blow, 
And  coughing  drowns  the  parson's  saw, 

And  birds  sit  brooding  in  the  snow, 
And  Marian's  nose  looks  red  and  raw  ; 

When  roasted  crabs  hiss  in  the  bowl — 

Then  nightly  sings  the  staring  owl 
Tuwhoo  ! 

Tuwhit !  tuwhoo  !     A  merry  note  ! 

While  greasy  Joan  doth  keel  the  pot. 

W.  Shakespeare 

*37* 

JOCK  OF  HAZELDEAN 

1  Why  weep  ye  by  the  tide,  ladie  ? 

'  Why  weep  ye  by  the  tide  ? 
'  I'll  wed  ye  to  my  youngest  son, 

'  And  ye  sail  be  his  bride  : 
'  And  ye  sail  be  his  bride,  ladie, 

'  Sae  comely  to  be  seen ' — 
But  aye  she  loot  the  tears  down  fa' 

For  Jock  of  Hazeldean. 

9  keel,  skim      n  saw,  speech      14  cmis,  wild  apples 
7  loot,  let  :  fa  fall 


56  The  Children's  Treasury 

'  Now  let  this  wilfu'  grief  be  done, 

'  And  dry  that  cheek  so  pale  ; 
'Young  Frank  is  chief  of  Errington, 

'  And  lord  of  Langley-dale  ; 
'  His  step  is  first  in  peaceful  ha', 

'  His  sword  in  battle  keen' — 
But  aye  she  loot  the  tears  down  fa' 

For  Jock  of  Hazeldean. 

'  A  chain  of  gold  ye  sail  not  lack, 

'  Nor  braid  to  bind  your  hair, 
'  Nor  mettled  hound,  nor  managed  hawk, 

'  Nor  palfrey  fresh  and  fair  ; 
'  And  you  the  foremost  o'  them  a' 

'  Sail  ride  our  forest-queen ' — 
But  aye  she  loot  the  tears  down  fa' 

For  Jock  of  Hazeldean. 

The  kirk  was  deck'd  at  morning-tide, 

The  tapers  glimmerM  fair  ; 
The  priest  and  bridegroom  wait  the  bride, 

And  dame  and  knight  are  there  : 
They  sought  her  baith  by  bower  and  ha' ; 

The  ladie  was  not  seen  ! 
She's  o'er  the  Border,  and  awa' 

Wi'  Jock  of  Hazeldean. 

Sir  W.  Scott 

*  38  * 

THE   OUTLAW 

O  Brignall  banks  are  wild  and  fair, 

And  Greta  woods  are  green, 
And  you  may  gather  garlands  there 

"Would  grace  a  summer-queen. 

13  ha',  hall,  for  house     19  mettled,  spirited:  managed,  trained 
25  kirk,  church  29  bower,  lady's  own  rown 

Outlaw,  man  driven  out  to  live  by  himself,  a  robber 


of  English  Son%  57 

And  as  I  rode  by  Dalton-Hall 

Leneath  the  turrets  high, 
A  Maiden  on  the  castle-wall 

Was  singing  merrily  : 
'  O  Brignall  Banks  are  fresh  and  fair, 

'  And  Greta  woods  are  green  ; 
'  I'd  rather  rove  with  Edmund  there 

'  Than  reign  our  English  queen.' 

— '  If,  Maiden,  thou  wouldst  wend  with  me, 

'  To  leave  both  tower  and  town, 
'  Thou  first  must  guess  what  life  lead  we 

'  That  dwell  by  dale  and  down. 
'  And  if  thou  canst  that  riddle  read, 

'  As  read  full  well  you  may, 
'  Then  to  the  greenwood  shalt  thou  speed 

'  As  blithe  as  Queen  of  May.' 
Yet  sung  she,  '  Brignall  banks  are  fair, 

'  And  Greta  woods  are  green  ; 
'  I'd  rather  rove  with  Edmund  there 

'  Than  reign  our  English  queen.' 

'  I  read  you  by  your  bugle-horn 

'  And  by  your  palfrey  good, 
'  I  read  you  for  a  ranger  sworn 

'  To  keep  the  king's  greenwood.' 
— '  A  Ranger,  lady,  winds  his  horn, 

'  And  'tis  at  peep  of  light ; 
'  His  blast  is  heard  at  merry  morn, 

'  And  mine  at  dead  of  night' 
Yet  sung  she   '  Brignall  banks  are  fair, 

'  And  Greta  woods  are  gay  ; 
'  I  would  I  were  with  Edmund  there 

'  To  reign  his  Queen  of  May  ! 

13  wend,  go  25  read,  declare    26  palfrey,  pony 

27  ranger,  forest-keeper         28  keep,  guard       29  winds,  blows 


58  The  Children's  Treasury 

'  With  burnish'd  brand  and  musketoon 

'  So  gallantly  you  come. 
'  I  read  you  for  a  bold  Dragoon 

'  That  lists  the  tuck  of  drum.' 
— '  I  list  no  more  the  tuck  of  drum, 

'  No  more  the  trumpet  hear  ; 
'  But  when  the  beetle  sounds  his  hum 

'  My  comrades  take  the  spear. 
'  And  O  !  though  Brignall  banks  be  fair 

'  And  Greta  woods  be  gay, 
'  Yet  mickle  must  the  maiden  dare 

'  Would  reign  my  Queen  of  May ! 

'  Maiden  !  a  nameless  life  I  lead, 

'  A  nameless  death  I'll  die  ! 
'  The  fiend  whose  lantern  lights  the  mead 

'  Were  better  mate  than  I  ! 
'  And  when  I'm  with  my  comrades  met 

'  Beneath  the  greenwood  bough 
'  What  once  we  were  we  all  forget, 

'  Nor  think  what  we  are  now.' 

Chorus 
Yet  Brignall  banks  are  fresh  and  fair, 

And  Greta  woods  are  green, 
And  you  may  gather  garlands  there 
Would  grace  a  summer-queen. 

Sir  W.  Scott 

*  39  * 

EDWIN  AND  ANGELINA 

'Turn,  gentle  Hermit  of  the  dale, 

'  And  guide  my  lonely  way 
'  To  where  yon  taper  cheers  the  vale 

'  With  hospitable  ray. 

37  brand,  sword  :  musketoon,  blunderbuss    40  tuck,  beat 

47  mickle,  much  51  Will  o'  the  Wisp 


of  English  Song  59 

'  For  here  forlorn  and  lost  I  tread, 

'  With  fainting  steps  and  slow, 
'  Where  wilds,  immeasurably  spread, 

'  Seem  lengthening  as  I  go.' 

— '  Forbear,  my  son,'  the  Hermit  cries, 

'  To  tempt  the  dangerous  gloom, 
'  For  yonder  faithless  phantom  flies 
'  To  lure  thee  to  thy  doom. 

Here  to  the  houseless  child  of  want 
'  My  door  is  open  still  ; 
'  And  though  my  portion  is  but  scant 
'  I  give  it  with  goodwill. 

'  Then  turn  to-night,  and  freely  share 

'  Whate'er  my  cell  bestows  ; 
■  My  rushy  couch  and  frugal  fare, 

'  My  blessing  and  repose. 

'  No  flocks  that  range  the  valley  free 

'  To  slaughter  I  condemn  ; 
'  Taught  by  that  Power  that  pities  me, 

'  I  learn  to  pity  them  : 

'  But  from  the  mountain's  grassy  side 

'  A  guiltless  feast  I  bring  : 
'  A  scrip  with  herbs  and  fruits  supplied, 

'  And  water  from  the  spring. 

'  Then,  pilgrim  !  turn  ;  thy  cares  forego; 

'  All  earth-born  cares  are  wrong : 
'  Man  wants  but  little  here  below, 

'  Nor  wants  that  little  long.' 

7  immeasurably,  without  end  10  tempt,  try 

11  the  Will-o'-the-Wisp  12  lure,  tempt 

19  bed  of  rushes  22  kill 

27  scrip,  little  bag  29  forego,  lay  by 


60  The  Children's  Treasury 

Soft  as  the  dew  from  heaven  descends 

His  gentle  accents  fell  : 
The  modest  stranger  lowly  bends, 

And  follows  to  the  cell. 

Far  in  a  wilderness  obscure 

The  lonely  mansion  lay, 
A  refuge  to  the  neighbouring  poor, 

And  strangers  led  astray. 

No  stores  beneath  its  humble  thatch 

Required  a  master's  care, 
The  wicket,  opening  with  a  latch, 

Received  the  harmless  pair. 

And  now,  when  busy  crowds  retire 

To  take  their  evening  rest, 
The  hermit  trimm'd  his  little  fire, 

And  cheer'd  his  pensive  guest: 

And  spread  his  vegetable  store, 
And  gaily  press'd  and  smiled  ; 

And  skill'd  in  legendary  lore, 
The  lingering  hours  beguiled. 

Around,  in  sympathetic  mirth, 

Its  tricks  the  kitten  tries  ; 
The  cricket  chirrups  on  the  hearth, 

The  crackling  fagot  flies. 

But  nothing  could  a  charm  impart 
To  soothe  the  stranger's  woe  ; 

For  grief  was  heavy  at  his  heart, 
And  tears  began  to  flow. 

His  rising  cares  the  Hermit  spied, 
With  answering  care  oppress'd  : 

And  '  Whence,  unhappy  youth,'  he  cried, 
'  The  sorrows  of  thy  breast  ? 

34  accents,  voice  48  pensive,  thoughtful 

51  legendary  lore,  ancient  stories       53  cheerful  like  the  Hermit 

57  impart,  give  62  similar  sadness 


of  English  Song  6 1 

'  From  better  habitations  spurn'd 

'  Reluctant  dost  thou  rove  ? 
'  Or  grieve  for  friendship  unreturn'd, 

'  Or  unregarded  love  ? 

'  Alas  !  the  joys  that  fortune  brings 

'  Are  trifling,  and  decay  ; 
'  And  those  who  prize  the  paltry  things, 

'  More  trifling  still  than  they. 

'  And  what  is  friendship  but  a  name, 

'  A  charm  that  lulls  to  sleep  ; 
'  A  shade  that  follows  wealth  or  fame, 

'  But  leaves  the  wretch  to  weep  ? 

'  And  love  is  still  an  emptier  sound, 

'  The  modern  fair-one's  jest ; 
'  On  earth  unseen,  or  only  found 

*  To  warm  the  turtle's  nest. 

'  For  shame,  fond  youth  !  thy  sorrows  hush  ; 

'  And  spurn  the  sex,'  he  said  ; 
But  while  he  spoke,  a  rising  blush 

His  love-lorn  guest  betray'd  ! 

Surprised  he  sees  new  beauties  rise, 

Swift  mantling  to  the  view  ; 
Like  colours  o'er  the  morning  skies, 

As  bright,  as  transient  too. 

The  bashful  look,  the  rising  breast, 

Alternate  spread  alarms: 
The  lovely  stranger  stands  confess'd, 

A  maid  in  all  her  charms. 

And  '  Ah  !  forgive  a  stranger  rude, — 

'  A  wretch  forlorn,'  she  cried  ; 
'  Whose  feet,  unhallow'd,  thus  intrude 

1  Where  Heaven  and  you  reside  ! 

65  spurn'd,  driven     66  reluctant,  unwilling     69  Jbrlune,\vea\th 

82  the  sex,  women  86  mantling,  spreading 

3  fransient,  soon  passing  91  confess'd,  revealed    95  intrude,  push  in 


62  The  Children's  Treasury 

4  But  let  a  maid  thy  pity  share, 
Whom  love  has  taught  to  stray; 

'  Who  seeks  for  rest,  but  finds  despair 
'  Companion  of  her  way. 

'  My  father  lived  beside  the  Tyne, 

'  A  wealthy  lord  was  he  ; 
'  And  all  his  wealth  was  mark'd  as  mine, 

4  He  had  but  only  me. 

4  To  win  me  from  his  tender  arms 
'  Unnumber'd  suitors  came, 

'  Who  praised  me  for  imputed  charms, 
'  And  felt  or  feign'd  a  flame. 

4  Each  hour  a  mercenary  crowd 
4  With  richest  proffers  strove  : 

4  Amongst  the  rest,  young  Edwin  bow'd, 
4  But  never  talk'd  of  love. 

4  In  humble,  simple  habit  clad, 
4  No  wealth  nor  power  had  he  : 

4  Wisdom  and  worth  were  all  he  had, 
4  But  these  were  all  to  me. 

4  And  when,  beside  me  in  the  dale, 

4  He  caroll'd  lays  of  love, 
4  His  breath  lent  fragrance  to  the  gale, 

'  And  music  to  the  grove. 

4  The  blossom  opening  to  the  day, 
4  The  dews  of  heaven  refined, 

4  Could  nought  of  purity  display 
4  To  emulate  his  mind. 

4  The  dew,  the  blossom  on  the  tree, 
4  With  charms  inconstant  shine: 

4  Their  charms  were  his ;  but,  woe  to  me  ! 
4  Their  constancy  was  mine. 

107  imputed,  which  they  said  they  saw  108  Jlame,  love 

109  mercenary,  greedy  of  money  wo  proffers,  offers 

124  emulate,  rival  126  changeable  beauties 


of  English  Song  63 

'  For  still  I  tried  each  fickle  art, 

'  Importunate  and  vain  ; 
'  And,  while  his  passion  touch'd  my  heart, 

'  I  triumph'd  in  his  pain  : 

'  Till,  quite  dejected  with  my  scorn, 

'  He  left  me  to  my  pride  ; 
'  And  sought  a  solitude  forlorn, 

'  In  secret,  where  he  died. 

'  But  mine  the  sorrow,  mine  the  fault ! 

'And  well  my  life  shall  pay; 
'  I'll  seek  the  solitude  he  sought, 

'  And  stretch  me  where  he  lay. 

'  And  there,  forlorn,  despairing,  hid, 

'  I'll  lay  me  down  and  die  ; 
1  'Twas  so  for  me  that  Edwin  did, 

'  And  so  for  him  will  I.' 

— '  Forbid  it,  Heaven  ! '  the  Hermit  cried, 

And  clasp'd  her  to  his  breast : 
The  wondering  fair  one  turn'd  to  chide — 

'Twas  Edwin's  self  that  press'd  ! 

'  Turn,  Angelina,  ever  dear, 

'  My  charmer,  turn  to  see 
'  Thy  own,  thy  long-lost  Edwin  here, 

'  Restored  to  love  and  thee. 

'  Thus  let  me  hold  thee  to  my  heart, 

'  And  every  care  resign  : 
'  And  shall  we  never,  never  part, 

'  My  life — my  all  that's  mine  ? 

'  No,  never  from  this  hour  to  part, 

'  We'll  live  and  love  so  true  : 
'  The  sigh  that  rends  thy  constant  heart 

1  Shall  break  thy  Edwin's  too.' 

O.  Goldsmith 

132  triumph'd,  rejoiced  133  dejected,  grieved 


64  The  Children's  Treasury 

*40* 

THE  LASS  OF  LOCHROYAN 

1  O  WHO  will  shoe  my  bonny  foot, 
'  And  who  will  glove  my  hand  ? 
And  who  will  lace  my  middle  jimp 
'  Wi'  a  long,  long,  linen  band  ? 

'  Or  who  will  kaim  my  yellow  hair 
'  Wi'  a  new-made  silver  kaim  ? 

'  O  who  will  father  my  young  son 
'  Till  Lord  Gregory  comes  hame  ? 

'  O  if  I  had  a  bonny  ship, 

'  And  men  to  sail  wi'  me, 
'  It's  I  would  gang  to  my  true  Love, 

'  Since  he  winna  come  to  me  ! ' 

Then  she's  gar'd  build  a  bonny  boat, 

To  sail  the  salt,  salt  sea  : 
The  sails  were  of  the  light-green  silk 

And  the  ropes  of  taffetie. 

She  had  not  been  on  the  sea  sailing 

About  a  month  or  more, 
Till  landed  has  she  her  bonny  ship 

Near  to  her  true  Love's  door. 

She's  ta'en  her  young  son  in  her  arms 

And  to  the  door  she's  gane  ; 
And  long  she  knock'd,  and  sair  she  call'd, 

But  answer  got  she  nane. 

'  O  open  the  door,  Lord  Gregory  ! 

'  O  open,  and  let  me  in  ! 
'  For  the  wind  blows  through  my  yellow  hair, 

'  And  the  rain  drops  o'er  my  chin.' 

3  middle  jimp,  slender  waist     5  kaim,  comb     12  winna,  will  not 
13  gar'd,  made  16  taffetie,  thin  silk         23  sair,  sorely 


of  English  Song  65 

Long  stood  she  at  Lord  Gregory's  door, 

And  long  she  tirl'd  the  pin  ; 
At  length  up  gat  his  false  mother, 

Says,  '  Who's  that  would  be  in  ? ' 

— '  O  it's  Annie  of  Lochroyan, 

'  Your  Love,  come  o'er  the  sea, 
'  But  and  your  young  son  in  her  arms  ; 

'  So  open  the  door  to  me.' 

— 'Away,  away,  ye  ill  woman  ! 

'  You're  not  come  here  for  gude  ; 
'  You're  but  a  witch,  or  a  vile  warlock, 

'  Or  a  mermaid  o'  the  flood.' 

— '  I'm  no  a  witch,  nor  vile  warlock, 

'  Nor  mermaiden,'  said  she  ; 
'  But  I  am  Annie  of  Lochroyan, — 

'  O  open  the  door  to  me  ! ' 

— '  If  thou  be  Annie  of  Lochroyan 

'  (As  I  trow  ye  binna  she), 
'  Now  tell  me  some  of  the  love-tokens 

'  That  pass'd  'tween  me  and  thee.' 

— *  O  dinna  ye  mind,  Lord  Gregory, 

'  As  we  sat  at  the  wine, 
'  How  we  changed  the  rings  from  our  fingers, 

'  And  I  can  show  thee  thine  ? 

'  O  yours  was  good,  and  good  enough, 

'  But  not  so  good  as  mine  ; 
'  For  yours  was  o'  the  good  red  gold, 

'  But  mine  of  the  diamond  fine. 

'  So  open  the  door,  Love  Gregory, 

'And  open  it  with  speed  ; 
'  Or  your  young  son  that's  in  my  arms, 

'  For  cold  will  soon  be  dead.' 

30  tirl'd,  twisted  the  latch 
35  But  and,  and  also  39  warlock,  wizard 

46  binna,  be  not  49  dinna,  do  not 

F 


66  The  Children's  Treasury 

— '  Away,  away,  ye  ill  woman  ! 

'  Go  from  my  door  for  shame  ! 
'  For  I  have  gotten  another  Love, 

'  So  you  may  hie  you  hame.' 

Fair  Annie  turn'd  her  round  about ; 

'  Well !  since  that  it  be  sae, 
'  May  never  a  woman,  that  has  borne  a  son, 

'  Have  a  heart  so  full  of  wae  ! 

'  Take  down,  take  down,  the  mast  of  gold, 
'  Set  up  the  mast  o'  tree  ; 

I  It  ill  becomes  a  forsaken  lady 

'  To  sail  so  gallantlie.' 

Lord  Gregory  started  from  his  sleep, 
And  to  his  mother  did  say, 

I I  dreamt  a  dream,  this  night,  mother, 
1  That  makes  my  heart  right  wae. 

'  I  dreamt  that  Annie  of  Lochroyan, 

'  The  flower  of  all  her  kin, 
'  E'en  now  was  standing  at  my  door, 

'  But  none  would  let  her  in.' 

— '  O  there  was  a  woman  stood  at  the  door, 
'  With  a  bairn  intill  her  arm  ; 

'  But  I  could  not  let  her  come  within, 
'  For  fear  she  had  done  you  harm.' 

— '  O  wae  betide  ye,  ill  woman  ! 

'  An  ill  death  may  ye  dee  ! 
'  That  wadna  open  the  door  to  her, 

Nor  yet  would  waken  me  ! ' 

O,  he's  gone  down  to  yon  shore  side 

As  fast  as  he  could  fare  ; 
He  saw  fair  Annie  in  the  boat, 

But  the  wind  it  toss'd  her  sair. 

68  wae,  woe  70  tree,  wood  76  wae,  sad 

82  intill,  in  87  wadna,  would  not 


of  English  Song  67 

And  '  hey,  Annie  ! '  and  '  how,  Annie  !' 

'  O  Annie,  winna  ye  bide  ? ' 
But  aye  the  mair  he  cried  '  Annie,' 

The  broader  grew  the  tide. 

And  '  hey,  Annie  ! '  and  '  how,  Annie  ! ' 

'  O  Annie,  speak  to  me  ! ' 
But  aye  the  louder  he  cried  '  Annie,' 

The  louder  roar'd  the  sea. 

The  wind  blew  loud,  the  sea  grew  rough, 
And  the  ship  was  rent  in  twain  : 

And  soon  he  saw  his  fair  Annie 
Come  floating  o'er  the  main. 

He  saw  his  young  son  in  her  arms, 

Both  toss'd  above  the  tide  ; 
He  wrang  his  hands,  and  fast  he  ran 

And  plunged  in  the  sea  sae  wide. 

He  catch'd  her  by  the  yellow  hair, 

And  drew  her  up  on  the  sand  ; 
But  cold  and  stiff  was  every  limb 

Before  he  reach'd  the  land. 

And  then  he  kiss'd  her  on  the  cheek, 

And  kiss'd  her  on  the  chin  ; 
And  sair  he  kiss'd  her  on  the  lips  ; 

But  there  was  no  breath  within. 

'  O  wae  betide  my  cruel  mother  ! 

'  An  ill  death  may  she  dee  ! 
1  She  turn'd  fair  Annie  from  my  door, 

'  Wha  died  for  love  of  me  ! ' 

Unknown 
94  bide,  wait 


68  The  Children's  Treasury 

*  A\   * 
CUMNOR   HALL 

THE  dews  of  summer  night  did  fall ; 

The  moon,  sweet  Regent  of  the  sky, 
Silver'd  the  walls  of  Cumnor  Hall, 

And  many  an  oak  that  grew  thereby. 

Now  nought  was  heard  beneath  the  skies  ; 

The  sounds  of  busy  life  were  still, 
Save  an  unhappy  lady's  sighs 

That  issued  from  that  lonely  pile. 

'  Leicester  ! '  she  cried,  '  is  this  thy  love 
'  That  thou  so  oft  hast  sworn  to  me, 

'  To  leave  me  in  this  lonely  grove, 
'  Immured  in  shameful  privity  ? 

'  No  more  thou  com'st  with  lover's  speed 

'  Thy  once-belove"d  bride  to  see  ; 
'  But,  be  she  alive,  or  be  she  dead, 

'  I  fear,  stern  Earl,  's  the  same  to  thee. 

'  Not  so  the  usage  I  received 

'  When  happy  in  my  father's  hall  : 

'  No  faithless  husband  then  me  grieved  ; 
'  No  chilling  fears  did  me  appal. 

'  I  rose  up  with  the  cheerful  morn, 

'  No  lark  more  blithe,  no  flower  more  gay  : 

'  And  like  the  bird  that  haunts  the  thorn, 
'  So  merrily  sung  the  live-long  day. 

'  If  that  my  beauty  is  but  small, 
'  Among  court-ladies  all  despised  ; 

'  Why  didst  thou  rend  it  from  that  hall 

'  Where,  scornful  Earl !  it  well  was  prized  ? 

2  regent,  ruler  S  issued,  came  forth  :  pile,  building 

12  immured,  buried  :  privity,  solitude 
i     usage,  treatment     20  appal,  frighten     27  rend,  take  away 


of  English  Song  69 

1  But,  Leicester,  (or  I  much  am  wrong), 
'  Or  'tis  not  beauty  lures  thy  vows  ; 

'  Rather,  ambition's  gilded  crown 
'  Makcis  thee  forget  thy  humble  spouse. 

'  Then,  Leicester,  why, — again  I  plead, 

'  The  injured  surely  may  repine,- — 
'  Why  didst  thou  wed  a  country  maid, 

'  When  some  fair  Princess  might  be  thine  ? 

'  Why  didst  thou  praise  my  humble  charms, 
'  And  O  !  then  leave  them  to  decay  ? 

'  Why  didst  thou  win  me  to  thy  arms, 
'  Then  leave  to  mourn  the  live-long  day  ? 

'  The  village  maidens  of  the  plain 

'  Salute  me  lowly  as  they  go  : 
'  Envious  they  mark  my  silken  train, 

'  Nor  think  a  Countess  can  have  woe. 

'  How  far  less  blest  am  I  than  them  ! 

'  Daily  to  pine  and  waste  with  care, 
1  Like  the  poor  plant,  that,  from  its  stem 

'  Divided,  feels  the  chilling  air. 

'  My  spirits  flag  ;  my  hopes  decay ; 

'  Still  that  dread  death-bell  smites  my  ear : 
'  And  many  a  boding  seems  to  say 

'  Countess,  prepare  !  thy  end  is  near  ! ' 

Thus  sore  and  sad  the  Lady  grieved 
In  Cumnor  Hall  so  lone  and  drear  ; 

And  many  a  heartfelt  sigh  she  heaved, 
And  let  fall  many  a  bitter  tear. 

And  ere  the  dawn  of  day  appear'd, 
In  Cumnor  Hall  so  lone  and  drear, 

Full  many  a  piercing  scream  was  heard, 
And  many  a  cry  of  mortal  fear. 

30  lures,  tempts  thy  wishes  32  spouse,  wife 

34  repine,  murmur  37  charms,  beauties  42  bow  to  me 

43  train,  dress  49  flag,  sink  51  boding,  sign 


jo  The  Children's  Treasury 

The  death-bell  thrice  was  heard  to  ring  ; 

An  aerial  voice  was  heard  to  call ; 
And  thrice  the  raven  flapp'd  its  wing 

Around  the  towers  of  Cumnor  Hall. 

The  mastiff  howl'd  at  village  door  ; 

The  oaks  were  shattered  on  the  green  ; 
Woe  was  the  hour  !  for  never  more 

That  hapless  Countess  e'er  was  seen. 

And  in  that  manor  now  no  more 
Is  cheerful  feast  and  sprightly  ball  : 

For  ever  since  that  dreary  hour 
Have  spirits  haunted  Cumnor  Hall. 

The  village  maids,  with  fearful  glance, 
Avoid  the  ancient  moss-grown  wall, 

Nor  ever  lead  the  merry  dance 
Among  the  groves  of  Cumnor  Hall. 

Full  many  a  traveller  oft  hath  sigh'd, 
And  pensive  wept  the  Countess'  fall, 

As  wandering  onwards  they've  espied 
The  haunted  towers  of  Cumnor  Hall. 

W.  J.  Mickle 

*  42  * 

THE  TRUE  AND  THE  FALSE 

Where  shall  the  lover  rest 

Whom  the  fates  sever 
From  his  true  maiden's  breast 

Parted  for  ever  ? 
Where,  through  groves  deep  and  high 

Sounds  the  far  billow, 
Where  early  violets  die 

Under  the  willow  : — 
Eleu  loro 

Soft  shall  be  his  pillow. 

62  aerial,  in  the  air  78  pensive,  thoughtful 


of  English  Song  71 

There,  through  the  summer  day 

Cool  streams  are  laving  : 
There,  while  the  tempests  sway, 

Scarce  are  boughs  waving  ; 
There  thy  rest  shalt  thou  take, 

Parted  for  ever, 
Never  again  to  wake 

Never,  O  never  ! 
Eleu  loro 

Never,  O  never  ! 

— Where  shall  the  traitor  rest, 

He,  the  deceiver, 
Who  could  win  maiden's  breast, 

Ruin,  and  leave  her  ? 
In  the  lost  battle, 

Borne  down  by  the  flying, 
Where  mingles  war's  rattle 

With  groans  of  the  dying  ; 
Eleu  loro 

There  shall  he  be  lying. 

Her  wing  shall  the  eagle  flap 

O'er  the  falsehearted  ; 
His  warm  blood  the  wolf  shall  lap 

Ere  life  be  parted  : 
Shame  and  dishonour  sit 

By  his  grave  ever ; 
Blessing  shall  hallow  it 

Never,  O  never  ! 
Eleu  loro 

Never,  O  never  / 

Sir   W.  Scott 


72  The  Chi/dre/i's  Treasury 

*43* 

A  ULD  ROBIN  GRAY 

WHEN  the  sheep  are  in  the  fauld,  and  the  kye  at 

hame, 
And  a'  the  warld  to  rest  are  gane, 
The  waes  o'  my  heart  fa'  in  showers  frae  my  e'e, 
While  my  gudeman  lies  sound  by  me. 

Young  Jamie  lo'ed  me  weel,  and  sought  me  for  his 

bride  ; 
But  saving  a  croun  he  had  naething  else  beside  : 
To  make  the  croun  a  pund,  young  Jamie  gaed  to 

sea  ; 
And  the  croun  and  the  pund  were  baith  for  me. 

He  hadna  been  awa'  a  week  but  only  twa, 

When  my  father  brak  his  arm,  and  the  cow  was 

stown  awa'  ; 
My  mother  she  fell  sick,  and  my  Jamie  at  the  sea  - 
And  auld  Robin  Gray  came  a-courtin'  me. 

My  father  couldna  work,  and  my  mother  couldna 

spin; 
I  toil'd  day  and   night,  but  their  bread   I    couldna 

win  ; 
Auld  Rob  maintain'd  them  baith,  and  wi'  tears  in 

his  e'e 
'  Said,  Jennie,  for  their  sakes,  O,  marry  me  ! ' 

My  heart  it  said  nay  ;  I  look'd  for  Jamie  back  ; 
But  the  wind  it  blew  high,  and  the  ship  it  was  a 

wrack  ; 
His  ship  it  was  a  wrack — why  didna  Jamie  dee  ? 
Or  why  do  I  live  to  cry,  Wae's  me  ? 

i  fauld,  fold  :  kye,  cattle  3  fa' ,  fall  7  gaed,  went 

9  awa' ,  away  a  fortnight  10  stoivn.  stolen 

13  couldna,  could  not  19  dee,  die 


of  English  Song  73 

My  father  urgit  sair  :  my  mother  didna  speak  ; 
But  she  look'd  in  my  face  till  my  heart  was  like  to 

break  : 
They  gi'ed  him  my  hand,  but  my  heart  was  at  the 

sea  : 
Sae  auld  Robin  Gray  he  was  gudeman  to  me. 

1  hadna  been  a  wife  a  week  but  only  four, 
When  mournfu'  as  I  sat  on  the  stane  at  the  door, 
I  saw  my  Jamie's  wraith,  for  I  couldna  think  it  he — 
Till  he  said,  '  I'm  come  hame  to  marry  thee.' 

— O  sair,  sair  did  we  greet,  and  muckle  did  we  say  5 
We  took  but  ae  kiss,  and  I  bad  him  gang  away  : 
I  wish  that  I  were  dead,  but  I'm  no  like  to  dee  ; 
And  why  was  I  born  to  say,  Wae's  me  ! 

I  gang  like  a  ghaist,  and  I  carena  to  spin  ; 
I  daurna  think  on  Jamie,  for  that  wad  be  a  sin  ; 
But  I'll  do  my  best  a  gude  wife  aye  to  be, 
For  auld  Robin  Gray  he  is  kind  unto  me. 

Lady  A.  Lindsay 

*  44* 
WILLY  DROWNED  IN  YARROW 

Down  in  yon  garden  sweet  and  gay 

Where  bonnie  grows  the  lily, 
I  heard  a  fair  maid  sighing  say, 

'  My  wish  be  wi'  sweet  Willie  ! 

1  Willie's  rare,  and  Willie's  fair, 
'And  Willie's  wondrous  bonny  ; 

•And  Willie  hecht  to  marry  me 
'  Gin  e'er  he  married  ony. 

21  urgit,  pressed        24  gudeman,   husband       27  wraith,  ghost 
29  sair,  sorely  :  greet,  cry  :  muckle,  much  31  like,  likely 

34  daurna,  dare  not         7  hecht,  promised  8  gin,  if:  ony,  any 


74  The  Children's  Treasury 

'  O  gentle  wind,  that  bloweth  south, 
'  From  where  my  Love  repaireth, 

'  Convey  a  kiss  frae  his  dear  mouth 
'  And  tell  me  how  he  fareth  ! 

'  O  tell  sweet  Willie  to  come  doun 

'  And  hear  the  mavis  singing, 
'  And  see  the  birds  on  ilka  bush 

'  And  leaves  around  them  hinging. 

'  The  lav'rock  there,  wi'  her  white  breast 
'  And  gentle  throat  sae  narrow  : 

'  There's  sport  eneuch  for  gentlemen 
'  On  Leader-haughs  and  Yarrow. 

'  O  Leader-haughs  are  wide  and  braid 
'  And  Yarrow-haughs  are  bonny  ; 

'  There  Willie  hecht  to  marry  me 
'  If  e'er  he  married  ony. 

'  But  Willie's  gone,  whom  I  thought  on, 
'  And  does  not  hear  me  weeping  ; 

1  Draws  many  a  tear  frae  true  love's  e'e 
'  When  other  maids  are  sleeping. 

'  O  came  ye  by  yon  water-side  ? 

'  Pou'd  you  the  rose  or  lily  ? 
'  Or  came  you  by  yon  meadow  green, 

'  Or  saw  you  my  sweet  Willie  ? ' 

She  sought  him  up,  she  sought  him  down, 
She  sought  him  braid  and  narrow  ; 

Syne,  in  the  cleaving  of  a  craig, 
She  found  him  drown'd  in  Yarrow  ! 

Unknown 

io  repaireth,  is  going  14  mavis,  thrush  15  ilka,  every 

17  lav'rock,  lark      19  eneuch,  enough      20  hauglis,  water-meadows 
21  braid,  broad  30  pou'd,  pulled 

34  through  plain  and  valley  35  syne,  then  :  craig,  rock 


of  English  Song  75 

*45  * 

LORD    ULLIN'S  DAUGHTER 

A  Chieftain  to  the  Highlands  bound 
Cries  '  Boatman,  do  not  tarry  ! 
'  And  I'll  give  thee  a  silver  pound 
'  To  row  us  o'er  the  ferry  ! ' 

— '  Now,  who  be  ye,  would  cross  Lochgyle 
'  This  dark  and  stormy  water  ?  ' 
— '  O  I'm  the  chief  of  Ulva's  isle, 
'  And  this,  Lord  Ullin's  daughter. 

'  And  fast  before  her  father's  men 
'  Three  days  we've  fled  together, 
'  For  should  he  find  us  in  the  glen, 
'  My  blood  would  stain  the  heather. 

'  His  horsemen  hard  behind  us  ride — 
'  Should  they  our  steps  discover, 
c  Then  who  will  cheer  my  bonny  bride 
'  When  they  have  slain  her  lover  ? ' 

Out  spoke  the  hardy  Highland  wight, 
'  I'll  go,  my  chief,  I'm  ready: 
'  It  is  not  for  your  silver  bright, 
'  But  for  your  winsome  lady:  — 

'  And  by  my  word  !  the  bonny  bird 
'  In  danger  shall  not  tarry  ; 
'  So  though  the  waves  are  raging  white, 
'  I'll  row  you  o'er  the  ferry.' 

By  this  the  storm  grew  loud  apace, 
The  water-wraith  was  shrieking  ; 
And  in  the  scowl  of  heaven  each  face 
Grew  dark  as  they  were  speaking. 

26  water-wraith,  spirit  of  the  lake  27  scowl,  storminess 


76  The  Children's  Treastiry 

But  still  as  wilder  blew  the  wrnd, 
And  as  the  night  grew  drearer, 
Adown  the  glen  rode  arme'd  men, 
Their  trampling  sounded  nearer. 

'  O  haste  thee,  haste  ! '  the  lady  cries, 
'  Though  tempests  round  us  gather ; 
'  I'll  meet  the  raging  of  the  skies, 
'  But  not  an  angry  father  ! ' 

The  boat  has  left  a  stormy  land, 
A  stormy  sea  before  her, — 
When,  O  !  too  strong  for  human  hand 
The  tempest  gather'd  o'er  her. 

And  still  they  row'd  amidst  the  roar 
Of  waters  fast  prevailing  : 
Lord  Ullin  reach'd  that  fatal  shore, — 
His  wrath  was  changed  to  wailing. 

For,  sore  disma/d,  through  storm  and  shade 
His  child  he  did  discover  : — 
One  lovely  hand  she  stretch'd  for  aid, 
And  one  was  round  her  lover. 

'  Come  back  !  come  back  ! '  he  cried  in  grief 
1  Across  this  stormy  water  : 
'  And  I'll  forgive  your  Highland  chief  : — 
1  My  daughter  ! — O  my  daughter  !' 

'Twas  vain  :  the  loud  waves  lash'd  the  shore, 

Return  or  aid  preventing  : 

The  waters  wild  went  o'er  his  child, 

And  he  was  left  lamenting. 

T.   Campbell 


of  English  Song  77 

*  46  * 

THE  DESTRUCTION  OF  SENNACHERIB 

THE  Assyrian  came  down  like  the  wolf  on  the  fold, 
And  his    cohorts    were    gleaming    in  purple    and 

gold, 
And  the  sheen  of  their  spears  was  like  stars  on  the 

sea, 
When  the  blue  wave  rolls  nightly  on  deep  Galilee. 

Like    the    leaves  of   the  forest  when  summer  is 

green. 
That  host  with  their  banners  at  sunset  were  seen  ; 
Like  the  leaves  of  the  forest  when  autumn  hath 

blown, 
That  host  on  the  morrow  lay  withered  and  strown. 

For  the  Angel  of  Death  spread  his  wings  on  the 

blast, 
And  breathed  in  the  face  of  the  foe  as  he  pass'd; 
And  the  eyes  of  the  sleepers  wax'd  deadly  and  chill, 
And  their  hearts  but  once  heaved,  and  for  ever  grew 

still. 

And  there  lay  the  steed  with  his  nostril  all  wide, 
But  through  it  there  roll'd  not  the  breath  of  his 

pride  ; 
And  the  foam  of  his  gasping  lay  white  on  the 

turf, 
And  cold  as  the  spray  of  the  rock-beating  surf. 

And  there  lay  the  rider,  distorted  and  pale, 

With  the  dew  on  his  brow,  and  the  rust  on  his 

mail  ; 
And  the  tents  were  all  silent,  the  banners  alone, 
The  lances  unlifted,  the  trumpet  unblown. 

2  cohorts,  regiments  3  sheen,  shining  11  wax'd,  grew 

13  steed,  warhorse  16  surf,  waves 

1     distorted,  twisted  in  death  18  mail,  armour 


78  The  Children 's  Treasury 

And  the  widows  of  Ashur  are  loud  in  their  wail, 
And  the  idols  are  broke  in  the  temple  of  Baal, 
And  the  might   of  the  Gentile,  unsmote  by  the 

sword, 
Hath  melted  like  snow  in  the  glance  of  the  Lord  ! 

Lord  Byron 

*47  * 
THE  SPANISH  ARMADA 

Attend  all  ye  who  list  to  hear  our  noble  England's 

praise, 
I  tell  of  the  thrice  famous  deeds  she  wrought  in 

ancient  days, 
When  that  great  fleet  invincible  against  her  bore  in 

vain 
The  richest  spoils  of  Mexico,  the  stoutest   hearts 

of  Spain. 

It  was  about  the  lovely  close  of  a  warm  summer 

day, 
There  came  a  gallant  merchant-ship  full   sail   to 

Plymouth  Bay  ; 
Her    crew  hath  seen  Castile's  black  fleet  beyond 

Aurigny's  isle, 
At  earliest  twilight,  on  the  waves  lie  heaving  many 

a  mile  ; 
At  sunrise  she  escaped  their  van,  by  God's  especial 

grace  ; 
And  the  tall  Pinta,  till  the  noon,  had  held  her  close 

in  chase. 
Forthwith  a  guard  at  every  gun  was  placed  along 

the  wall  ; 
The  beacon  blazed  upon  the  roof  of  Edgecumbe's 

lofty  hall ; 

9i  Ashur,  Assyria  i  list,  desire  7  isle,  Alderney 

9  van,  foremost  ships 


of  English  Song  79 

Many  a  light  fishing-bark  put  out  to  pry  along  the 

coast  ; 
And  with  loose  rein  and  bloody  spur  rode  inland 

many  a  post. 
With    his    white    hair    unbonnet'd    the    stout    old 

sheriff  comes  ; 
Behind  him   march    the    halberdiers,    before    him 

sound  the  drums  ; 
His  yeomen,  round  the  market-cross,  make  clear 

an  ample  space, 
For  there  behoves  him  to  set  up  the  standard  of 

her  Grace. 
And  haughtily  the  trumpets  peal,  and  gaily  dance 

the  bells, 
As  slow  upon  the  labouring  wind  the  royal  blazon 

swells. 
Look  how  the  Lion  of  the  sea  lifts  up  his  ancient 

crown, 
And  underneath  his   deadly  paw  treads  the    gay 

Lilies  down. 
So   stalk'd  he  when  he   turn'd   to   flight    on    that 

famed  Picard  field 
Bohemia's  plume,  and  Genoa's  bow,  and  Caesar's 

eagle  shield  : 
So  glared  he  when  at  Agincourt  in  wrath  he  turn'd 

to  bay, 
And  crush'd  and  torn  beneath  his  claws  the  princely 

hunters  lay. 
Ho  !  strike  the  flag-staff  deep,    Sir    Knight ;    ho  ! 

scatter  flowers,  fair  maids  : 
Ho  !  gunners,  fire  a  loud  salute  :  ho  !  gallants,  draw 

your  blades  ; 


14  post,  messenger  16  halberdiers,  guards  with  axes 

17  yeomen,  stout  followers 

18  standard,  great  flag :  her  Grace,  Queen  Elizabeth 

20  blazon,  arms  of  England  22  lilies,  old  arms  of  France 

23  field,  Cressy  28  salute,  volley :  blades,  swords 


80  The  Childreris  Treasury 

Thou  sun,  shine  on  her  joyously — ye  breezes  waft 

her  wide  ; 
Our  glorious  SEMPER  EADEM— the  banner   of 

our  pride. 
The  freshening  breeze  of  eve  unfurl'd   that   ban- 
ner's massive  fold, 
The  parting  gleam  of  sunshine  kiss'd  that  haughty 

scroll  of  gold ; 
Night   sank   upon    the    dusky  beach,  and  on  the 

purple  sea, — 
Such  night    in  England  ne'er  had  been,    nor  e'er 

again  shall  be  ! 
From  Eddystone  to  Berwick  bounds,  from  Lynn  to 

Milford  Bay, 
That  time  of  slumber  was  as  bright  and  busy  as 

the  day  ; 
For   swift  to  east  and  swift   to   west    the  ghastly 

war-flame  spread  ; 
High  on  Saint  Michael's  Mount  it  shone— it  shone 

on  Beachy  Head. 
Far  on  the  deep   the  Spaniard  saw,    along    each 

southern  shire, 
Cape  beyond  cape,  in  endless  range,  those  twink- 
ling points  of  fire  ; 
The  fisher  left  his  skiff  to  rock  on  Tamar's  glittering 

waves, 
The  rugged  miners  pour'd  to  war  from  Mendip's 

sunless  caves. 
O'er  Longleat's  towers,  o'er  Cranbourne's  o^ks,  the 

fiery  herald  flew  ; 
He  roused  the  shepherds  of  Stonehenge,  the  rangers 

of  Beaulieu. 
Right  sharp  and  quick  the  bells  all  night  rang  out 

from  Bristol  town, 
And  ere  the  day  three  hundred  horse  had  met  on 

Clifton  down  ; 

30  Semper  Eadem,  '  always  the  same  ' :  banner,  flag       ^2  scroll,  flng 


of  English  Song  81 

The  sentinel  on   Whitehall-gate    look'd  forth  into 

the  night, 
And  saw  o'erhanging  Richmond  Hill,  the  streak  of 

blood-red  light. 
Then  bugle's  note  and  cannon's  roar  the  death-like 

silence  broke, 
And  with  one  start,  and  with  one  cry,  the  royal  city 

woke. 
At  once  on  all  her  stately  gates  arose  the  answering 

fires  ; 
At  once  the  wild  alarum  clash'd  from  all  her  reel- 
ing spires  ; 
From  all  the  batteries  of  the  Tower  peal'd  loud  the 

voice  of  fear  ; 
And  all  the  thousand  masts  of  Thames  sent  back 

a  louder  cheer : 
And  from  the  furthest  wards  was  heard  the  rush  of 

hurrying  feet, 
And  the  broad  streams  of  pikes  and  flags  rush'd 

down  each  roaring  street  : 
And   broader  still  became  the  blaze,    and   louder 

still  the  din, 
As  fast  from  every  village  round  the   horse  came 

spurring  in  : 
And  eastward  straight,  from  wild  Blackheath,  the 

warlike  errand  went, 
And   roused   in  many  an  ancient  hall  the  gallant 

squires  of  Kent. 
Southward,  from  Surrey's  pleasant  hills  flew  those 

bright  couriers  forth  ; 
High  on  bleak   Hampstead's    swarthy   moor   they 

started  for  the  North  ; 
And   on,   and   on,    without  a  pause,  untired    they 

bounded  still, 

50  city,  London  52  reeling,  trembling  under  the  sound 

55  wards,  divisions  of  the  city     56  pikes,  spears     58  horse,  soldiers 
59  errand,  the  beacon-fires  to  rouse  England  :  so 
61  couriers  62  swarthy,  dark  63  pause,  stay 

G 


82  The  Children's  Treasury 

All  night  from  tower  to  tower  they  sprang  ;  they 

sprang  from  hill  to  hill  : 
Till  the  proud  Peak  unfurl'd  the  flag  o'er  Darwin's 

rocky  dales, 
Till  like  volcanoes  flared  to  Heaven  the  stormy  hills 

of  Wales  ; 
Till  twelve  fair  counties  saw  the  blaze  on  Malvern's 

lonely  height, 
Till  stream'd  in  crimson  on  the  wind  the  Wrekin's 

crest  of  light, 
Till  broad  and  fierce  the  star  came  forth  on  Ely's 

stately  fane, 
And  tower  and  hamlet  rose  in  arms  o'er  all  the 

boundless  plain  ; 
Till  Belvoir's  lordly  terraces  the  sign  to  Lincoln  sent, 
And  Lincoln  sped  the  message  on  o'er  the  wide  vale 

of  Trent  ; 
Till  Skiddaw  saw  the  fire  that  burn'd  on  Gaunt's 

embattled  pile, 
And  the  red  glare  on  Skiddaw  roused  the  burghers 

of  Carlisle. 

Lord  Macaulay 

*  48  * 
HOHENLINDEN 

On  Linden,  when  the  sun  was  low, 
All  bloodless  lay  the  untrodden  snow  ; 
And  dark  as  winter  was  the  flow 
Of  Iser,  rolling  rapidly. 

But  Linden  saw  another  sight, 
When  the  drum  beat  at  dead  of  night 
Commanding  fires  of  death  to  light 
The  darkness  of  her  scenery. 

69  fane,  cathedral  72  sped,  sent  quickly 

74  burghers,   citizens 


of  English  Song  83 

By  torch  and  trumpet  fast  array'd 
Each  horseman  drew  his  battle-blade, 
And  furious  every  charger  neigh'd 
To  join  the  dreadful  revelry. 

Then  shook  the  hills  with  thunder  riven  ; 
Then  rush'd  the  steed,  to  battle  driven  ; 
And  louder  than  the  bolts  of  Heaven 
Far  flash'd  the  red  artillery. 

But  redder  yet  that  light  shall  glow 
On  Linden's  hills  of  stained  snow  ; 
And  bloodier  yet  the  torrent  flow 
Of  Iser,  rolling  rapidly. 

'Tis  morn  ;  but  scarce  yon  level  sun 
Can  pierce  the  war-clouds,  rolling  dun, 
Where  furious  Frank  and  fiery  Hun 
Shout  in  their  sulphurous  canopy. 

The  combat  deepens.     On,  ye  Brave 
Who  rush  to  glory,  or  the  grave  ! 
Wave,  Munich,  all  thy  banners  wave, 
And  charge  with  all  thy  chivalry  ! 

Few,  few  shall  part,  where  many  meet  ! 
The  snow  shall  be  their  winding-sheet, 
And  every  turf  beneath  their  feet 
Shall  be  a  soldier's  sepulchre. 

T.  Campbell 

*49* 

THE  LAST  CHARGE  OF   THE  FRENCH   AT 
W A  TERLOO 

ON  came  the  whirlwind — like  the  last 
But  fiercest  sweep  of  tempest-blast — 
On  came  the  whirlwind — steel-gleams  broke 
Like  lightning  through  the  rolling  smoke  ; 

9  array  d,  dressed       n  charger,  war-horse        15  than  thunder 
16  artillery,  cannon  22  dun,  gloomy 

24  sulphurous  canopy,  overhanging  smoke  from  guns 
28  chivalry,  horsemen  32  sepulchre,  grave 

G  2 


84  The  Children's  Treasury 

The  war  was  waked  anew, 
Three  hundred  cannon-mouths  roar'd  loud, 
And  from  their  throats,  with  flash  and  cloud, 

Their  showers  of  iron  threw. 
Beneath  their  fire,  in  full  career, 
Rush'd  on  the  ponderous  cuirassier, 
The  lancer  couch'd  his  ruthless  spear, 
And  hurrying  as  to  havoc  near, 

The  cohorts'  eagles  flew. 
In  one  dark  torrent,  broad  and  strong, 
The  advancing  onset  roll'd  along, 
Forth  harbinger'd  by  fierce  acclaim, 
That,  from  the  shroud  of  smoke  and  flame, 
Peal'd  wildly  the  imperial  name  ! 

But  on  the  British  heart  were  lost 
The  terrors  of  the  charging  host ; 
For  not  an  eye  the  storm  that  view'd 
Changed  its  proud  glance  of  fortitude  ; 
Nor  was  one  forward  footstep  stay'd, 
As  dropp'd  the  dying  and  the  dead. 
Fast  as  their  ranks  the  thunders  tear, 
Fast  they  renew'd  each  serried  square  ; 
And  on  the  wounded  and  the  slain 
Closed  their  diminish'd  files  again, 
Till  from  their  line  scarce  spears'  lengths  three, 
Emerging  from  the  smoke  they  see 
Helmet,  and  plume,  and  panoply,  — 
Then  waked  their  fire  at  once  ! 
Each  musketeer's  revolving  knell, 
As  fast,  as  regularly  fell, 
As  when  they  practise  to  display 
Their  discipline  on  festal  day. 

10  cuirassier,  heavily  armed  horseman 
13  cohort,  body  of  men  16  harbinger'd,  preceded 

17  shroud,  covering  18  name,  Napoleon  Buonaparte 

22  fortitude,  bravery  26  serried,  closely  drawn 

31  panoply,  armour  33  firing  in  turn 


of  English  Song  85 

Then  down  went  helm  and  lance, 
Down  were  the  eagle-banners  sent, 

Down  reeling  steeds  and  riders  went, 
Corslets  were  pierced,  and  pennons  rent  ; 

And  to  augment  the  fray, 
Wheel'd  full  against  their  staggering  flanks, 
The  English  horsemen's  foaming  ranks 

Forced  their  resistless  way. 
Then  to  the  musket-knell  succeeds 
The  clash  of  swords — the  neigh  of  steeds — 
As  plies  the  smith  his  clanging  trade, 
Against  the  cuirass  rang  the  blade; 
And  while  amid  their  close  array 
The  well-served  cannon  rent  their  way, 
And  while  amid  their  scattered  band 
Raged  the  fierce  riders  bloody  brand, 
Recoil'd  in  common  rout  and  fear 
Lancer  and  guard  and  cuirassier, 
Horsemen  and  foot, — a  mingled  host ! 
Their  leaders  fall'n, — their  standards  lost. 

Sir  IV.  Scott 

*  50* 

THE    SOLDIER'S  DREAM. 

OUR  bugles  sang  truce,  for  the  night-cloud  had 
lowered, 

And  the  sentinel  stars  set  their  watch  in  the  sky ; 
And  thousands  had  sunk  on  the  ground  overpowered, 

The  weary  to  sleep,  and  the  wounded  to  die. 

When  reposing  that  night  on  my  pallet  of  straw 
By  the  wolf-scaring  faggot  that  guarded  the  slain, 

At  the  dead  of  the  night  a  sweet  Vision  I  saw  ; 
And  thrice  ere  the  morning  I  dreamt  it  again. 

38  the  Eagle  was  borne  by  the  French 
40  corslet,  body-armour  41  augment,  increase 

1  truce,  peace  for  the  time  :  lo-wer'd,  descended 
5  pallet,  couch  6  fire  lighted  to  keep  the  wolves  away 


86  The  Children's  Treasury 

Methought  from  the  battle-field's  dreadful  array 
Far,  far,  I  had  roam'd  on  a  desolate  track  : 

'Twas  Autumn,—  and  sunshine  arose  on  the  way 
To  the  home  of  my  fathers,  that  welcomed  me 
back. 

I  flew  to  the  pleasant  fields  traversed  so  oft 

In  life's  morning  march,  when  my  bosom  was 
young ; 
I  heard  my  own  mountain-goats  bleating  aloft, 
And  knew  the  sweet  strain  that  the  corn-reapers 
sung. 

Then  pledged  we  the  wine-cup,  and  fondly  I  swore 
From  my  home  and  my  weeping  friends  never  to 
part; 
My  little  ones  kiss'd  me  a  thousand  times  o'er, 
And    my  wife   sobb'd    aloud   in    her   fulness   of 
heart. 

;  Stay — stay  with  us  ! — rest !— thou  art  weary  and 
worn  ! ' — 
And  fain  was  their  war-broken  soldier  to  stay  ; — 
But  sorrow  return'd  with  the  dawning  of  morn, 
And  the  voice  in  my  dreaming  ear  melted  away. 

T.  Campbell 

*5i* 

BLIND   BELISARIUS 

HEAVEN'S  gifts  are  unequal  in  this  world  awarded, 

As  the  wise  page  of  history  to  us  has  recorded  ; 

Since  the  learn'd,  great,  and  good,  of  its  frowns 
seldom  scape  any  : — 

Witness  brave  Belisarius,  who  begg'd  for  a  half- 
penny : — 

''Date  obolutn,  Dateobolum,  Date  obolian,  Belisario,' 

17  we  drank  healths  1  awarded,  given 

5  Give  a  half-penny  to  Belisarius 


of  English  Song  87 

He  whose  fame  from  his  valour  and  victories  arose, 

sir, 
Of  his  country  the  shield,  and  the  scourge  of  her 

foes,  sir  : 
By  his  poor  faithful  dog,  blind  and  aged,  was  led 
With  one  foot  in  the  grave,  thus  to  beg  for  his  bread. 

When  a  young  Roman  knight,  in  the  street  passing 

by, 

The  veteran  surve/d  with  a  heart-rending  sigh  : 
His  purse  in  his  helmet  he  dropp'd  with  a  tear, 
While  the  soldier's  sad  tale  thus  attracted  his  ear. 

'  I  have  fought,  I  have  bled,  I  have  conquer'd  for 

Rome  ; 
'  I  have  crown'd  her  with  laurels,  which  for  ages  shall 

bloom  ; 
I've  enrich'd  her  with  wealth,  swell'd  her  pride  and 

her  power  : 
'  I  espoused  her  for  life, — and  disgrace  is  my  dower  ! 

'  Yet  blood  I  ne'er  wantonly  wasted  at  random, 

'  Losing  thousands  their  lives  by  a  nil  desperandum : 

'  But  each  conquest  I  gain'd,  I  made  friend  and  foe 

know 
'  That  my  soul's  only  aim  was  pro  publico  bono. 

'  Nor  yet  for  my  friends,  for  my  kindred,  or  self, 
'  Has  my  glory  been  tarnish'd  by  base  views  of  pelf : 
'  For  such  sordid  designs  I've  so  far  been  from 

carving, 
1  Old  and  blind,  I've  no  choice,  but  of  begging  or 

starving. 

'  Now  if  soldier  or  statesman,  of  what  age  or  nation 
'  He  hereafter  may  be,  should  hear  this  relation, 
'  And  of  eyesight  bereft,  should  like  me  grope  his  way, 
'  The  bright  sun-beams  of  virtue  will  turn  night  to 
day! 

it  veteran,  old  soldier  19  rash  courage         21  for  the  public  good 

23  pelf,  making  money      24  carving,  contriving        27  relation,  tale 


88  The  Children's  Treasury 

1  But  if  wanting  that  light,  at  the  close  of  life's 

spark, 
'  He  at  length  comes  to  take  the  great  leap  in  the 

dark, 
'  He  may  wish,  while  his  friends  wring  their  hands 

round  his  bed, 
'  That,   like   poor    Belisarius,    he'd   begg'd  for   his 

bread. 

'  But  I  to  distress  and  to  darkness  inured, 

1  In  this  vile  crust  of  clay  when  no  longer  im- 
mured, 

'  At  death's  welcome  stroke  my  bright  course  shall 
begin,  sir, 

'  And  enjoy  endless  day  from  the  sunshine  within, 
sir  : — 

'  Date  obolum,  Date  obolum,  Date  obolum,  Belisario.' 

J.  Collins 

*  52  * 

THE   FAIRY  LIFE 

I 

Where  the  bee  sucks,  there  suck  I  : 

In  a  cowslip's  bell  1  lie  ; 

There  I  couch,  when  owls  do  cry  : 

On  the  bat's  back  I  do  fly 

After  summer  merrily. 

Merrily,  merrily,  shall  I  live  now, 

Under  the  blossom  that  hangs  on  the  bough. 


Come  unto  these  yellow  sands, 

And  then  take  hands  : 
Courtsied  when  you  have  and  kiss'd 

The  wild  waves  whist, 

31  to  die  34  inured,  accustomed  35  crust,  his  body  : 

immured,  built  up 


of  English  Song  89 

Foot  it  featly  here  and  there  ; 
And,  sweet  sprites,  the  burthen  bear. 
Hark,  hark  ! 

Bow-wow. 
The  watch-dog's  bark : 
Bow-wow. 
Hark,  hark  !  I  hear 
The  strain  of  strutting  chanticleer 
Cry,  Cock-a-diddle-dow ! 

W.  Shakespeare 

*53  * 

THE  FAIRIES 

Up  the  airy  mountain, 

Down  the  rushy  glen, 
We  daren't  go  a-hunting 

For  fear  of  little  men  ; 
Wee  folk,  good  folk, 

Trooping  all  together ; 
Green  jacket,  red  cap, 

And  white  owl's  feather ! 

Down  along  the  rocky  shore 

Some  make  their  home  : 
They  live  on  crispy  pancakes 

Of  yellow  tide-foam  ; 
Some  in  the  reeds 

Of  the  black  mountain  lake, 
With  frogs  for  their  watch-dogs, 

All  night  awake. 

High  on  the  hill-top 

The  old  King  sits  ; 
He  is  now  so  old  and  gray, 

He's  nigh  lost  his  wits. 
With  a  bridge  of  white  mist 

Columbkill  he  crosses, 

5  featly,  neatly  6  sprites,  fairies 


90  The  Children's  Treasury 

On  his  stately  journeys 

From  Slieveleague  to  Rosses  : — 
Or  going  up  with  music 

On  cold  starry  nights, 
To  sup  with  the  queen 

Of  the  gay  Northern  Lights. 

They  stole  little  Bridget 

For  seven  years  long  ; 
When  she  came  down  again, 

Her  friends  were  all  gone. 

They  took  her  lightly  back, 

Between  the  night  and  morrow  ; 
They  thought  that  she  was  fast  asleep, 

But  she  was  dead  with  sorrow. 
They  have  kept  her  ever  since 

Deep  within  the  lakes, 
On  a  bed  of  flag-leaves, 

Watching  till  she  wakes. 

By  the  craggy  hill-side, 

Through  the  mosses  bare, 
They  have  planted  thorn-trees 

For  pleasure  here  and  there. 
Is  any  man  so  daring 

As  dig  them  up  in  spite, 
He  shall  find  their  sharpest  thorns 

In  his  bed  at  night. 

Up  the  airy  mountain, 

Down  the  rushy  glen, 
We  daren't  go  a-hunting 

For  fear  of  little  men  ; 
Wee  folk,  good  folk, 

Trooping  all  together ; 
Green  jacket,  red  cap, 

And  white  owl's  feather  ! 


W.  Allingham 


28  Lights,  the  Aurora 


of  English  Song  91 

*54* 

THE   WIFE  OF  USHER'S    WELL 

There  lived  a  wife  at  Usher's  Well, 

And  a  wealthy  wife  was  she  : 
She  had  three  stout  and  stalwart  sons, 

And  sent  them  o'er  the  sea. 

They  had  not  been  a  week  from  her, 

A  week  but  barely  ane, 
When  word  came  to  the  carline  wife 

That  her  three  sons  were  gane. 

They  had  not  been  a  week  from  her, 

A  week  but  barely  three, 
When  word  came  to  the  carline  wife 

That  her  sons  she'd  never  see. 

1 1  wish  the  wind  may  never  cease, 

'  Nor  fishes  in  the  flood, 
*  Till  my  three  sons  come  hame  to  me, 

'  In  earthly  flesh  and  blood  ! ' 

It  fell  about  the  Martinmas, 

When  nights  are  lang  and  mirk, 
The  carline  wife's  three  sons  came  home, 

And  their  hats  were  of  the  birk. 

It  neither  grew  in  syke  nor  ditch, 

Nor  yet  in  ony  sheugh  ; 
But  at  the  gates  of  Paradise 

That  birk  grew  fair  eneugh. 

'  Blow  up  the  fire,  my  maidens  ! 

'  Bring  water  from  the  well ! 
'  For  all  my  house  shall  feast  this  night, 

'  Since  my  three  sons  are  well ! ' 

7  carline,  old  peasant-woman  18  mirk,  murky 

20  birk,  birch  21  syke,  marsh  22  sheugh,  trench 


92  The  Children's  Treasury 

And  she  has  made  to  them  a  bed, 

She's  made  it  large  and  wide  ; 
And  she's  ta'en  her  mantle  her  about ; 

Sat  down  at  the  bed-side. 

Up  then  crew  the  red,  red  cock, 

And  up  and  crew  the  gray  : 
The  eldest  to  the  youngest  said, 

'  'Tis  time  we  were  away  ! 

'  The  cock  doth  craw,  the  day  doth  daw, 
'  The  channerin'  worm  doth  chide  : 

'  If  we  be  miss'd  out  of  our  place, 
'  A  sore  pain  we  must  bide. 

'  Fare  ye  well,  my  mother  dear  ! 

'  Farewell  to  barn  and  byre  ! 
'And  fare  ye  well,  the  bonny  lass, 

'  That  kindles  my  mother's  fire  ! ' 

Unknown 

*55  * 

ALICE  BRAND 
I 

Merry  it  is  in  the  good  greenwood, 
When  the  mavis  and  merle  are  singing, 

When  the  deer  sweeps  by,  and  the  hounds  are  in 
cry, 
And  the  hunter's  horn  is  ringing. 

'  O  Alice  Brand,  my  native  land 

'  Is  lost  for  love  of  you  ; 
'  And  we  must  hold  by  wood  and  wold, 

'  As  outlaws  wont  to  do  ! 

37  daw,  dawn         38  channerin',  scolding  :  probably  here,  impatient 
42  byre,  cattle-house  2  mavis,  thrush  :   merle,  blackbird 

7  hold,  live  8  outlaws,  persons  driven  into  wild  places 


of  English  Song  93 

'  O  Alice,  'twas  all  for  thy  locks  so  bright, 

'  And  'twas  all  for  thine  eyes  so  blue, 
'  That  on  the  night  of  our  luckless  flight, 

'  Thy  brother  bold  I  slew. 

'  Now  must  I  teach  to  hew  the  beech, 

'  The  hand  that  held  the  glaive, 
'  For  leaves  to  spread  our  lowly  bed, 

'  And  stakes  to  fence  our  cave. 

'  And  for  vest  of  pall,  thy  fingers  small, 

'  That  wont  on  harp  to  stray, 
'  A  cloak  must  shear  from  the  slaughter'd  deer, 

'  To  keep  the  cold  away.' — 

— '  O  Richard  !  if  my  brother  died, 

'  'Twas  but  a  fatal  chance  : 
'  For  darkling  was  the  battle  tried, 

'  And  fortune  sped  the  lance. 

'  If  pall  and  vair  no  more  I  wear, 

'  Nor  thou  the  crimson  sheen, 
'  As  warm,  we'll  say,  is  the  russet  gray  ; 

'  As  gay  the  forest-green. 

1  And,  Richard,  if  our  lot  be  hard, 

'  And  lost  thy  native  land, 
'  Still  Alice  has  her  own  Richard, 

'  And  he  his  Alice  Brand.' 


II 

'Tis  merry,  'tis  merry,  in  good  greenwood, 
So  blithe  Lady  Alice  is  singing  ; 

On  the  beech's  pride,  and  oak's  brown  side, 
Lord  Richard's  axe  is  ringing. 

14  glaive,  broad-sword  16  pall,  fine  cloth 

24  sped,  directed        25  vair,  fur         35  the  lofty  beech 


94  The  Children's  Treasury 

Up  spoke  the  moody  Elfin  King, 

Who  wonn'd  within  the  hill, — 
Like  wind  in  the  porch  of  a  ruin'd  church, 

His  voice  was  ghostly  shrill. 

'  Why  sounds  yon  stroke  on  beech  and  oak, 

'  Our  moonlight  circle's  screen  ? 
'  Or  who  comes  here  to  chase  the  deer, 

'  Beloved  of  our  Elfin  Queen  ? 
'  Or  who  may  dare  on  wold  to  wear 

'  The  fairies'  fatal  green  ? 

'  Up,  Urgan,  up  !  to  yon  mortal  hie, 

'  For  thou  wert  christen'd  man  : 
■  For  cross  or  sign  thou  wilt  not  fly, 

'  For  mutter'd  word  or  ban. 

'  Lay  on  him  the  curse  of  the  wither'd  heart, 

'  The  curse  of  the  sleepless  eye  ; 
'  Till  he  wish  and  pray  that  his  life  would  part, 

'  Nor  yet  find  leave  to  die  ! ' 

ill 

'Tis  merry,  'tis  merry,  in  good  greenwood, 
Though  the  birds  have  still'd  their  singing  ; 

The  evening  blaze  doth  Alice  raise, 
And  Richard  is  fagots  bringing. 

Up  Urgan  starts,  that  hideous  dwarf, 

Before  Lord  Richard  stands, 
And  as  he  cross'd  and  bless'd  himself, 
'  I  fear  not  sign,'  quoth  the  grisly  elf, 

'  That  is  made  with  bloody  hands.' 

But  out  then  spoke  she,  Alice  Brand, 

That  woman  void  of  fear, — 
'  And  if  there's  blood  upon  his  hand, 

'  'Tis  but  the  blood  of  deer.' 

37  Elfin,  fairy     38  wonn'd,  dwelt    47  mortal,  man     50  ban,  curse 


of  English  Song  95 

— '  Now  loud  thou  liest,  thou  bold  of  mood  ! 

'  It  cleaves  unto  his  hand, 
'  The  stain  of  thine  own  kindly  blood, 

'  The  blood  of  Ethert  Brand.' 

Then  forward  stepp'd  she,  Alice  Brand, 

And  made  the  holy  sign, — 
'  And  if  there's  blood  on  Richard's  hand, 

'  A  spotless  hand  is  mine. 

'  And  I  conjure  thee,  Demon  elf, 

'  By  Him  whom  Demons  fear, 
'  To  show  us  whence  thou  art  thyself, 

'  And  what  thine  errand  here  ? ' 


IV 

— '  'Tis  merry,  'tis  merry,  in  Fairy-land, 

'  When  fairy  birds  are  singing, 
'  When  the  court  doth  ride  by  their  monarch's  side, 

'  With  bit  and  bridle  ringing  : 

'  And  gaily  shines  the  Fairyland — 

'  But  all  is  glistening  show, 
1  Like  the  idle  gleam  that  December's  beam 

'  Can  dart  on  ice  and  snow. 

'  And  fading,  like  that  varied  gleam, 

'  Is  our  inconstant  shape, 
'  Who  now  like  knight  and  lady  seem, 

'  And  now  like  dwarf  and  ape. 

1  It  was  between  the  night  and  day, 

'  When  the  Fairy  King  has  power, 
1  That  I  sunk  down  in  a  sinful  fray, 
'And  'twixt  life  and  death,  was  snatch'd  away 

'  To  the  joyless  Elfin  bower. 

76  conjure,  order        89  inconstant,  changeable        94  fray,  quarrel 


96  The  Childrerts  Treasury 

'  But  wist  I  of  a  woman  bold, 

'  Who  thrice  my  brow  durst  sign, 
'  I  might  regain  my  mortal  mould, 

'  As  fair  a  form  as  thine.' 

She  cross'd  him  once — she  cross'd  him  twice — 

That  lady  was  so  brave  ; 
The  fouler  grew  his  goblin  hue, 

The  darker  grew  the  cave. 

She  cross'd  him  thrice,  that  lady  bold  ! 

— He  rose  beneath  her  hand 
The  fairest  knight  on  Scottish  mould, 

Her  brother,  Ethert  Brand  ! 

— Merry  it  is  in  good  greenwood, 

When  the  mavis  and  merle  are  singing  ; 

But  merrier  were  they  in  Dunfermline  gray 
When  all  the  bells  were  ringing. 

Sir  W.  Scott 

*$6* 

KUBLA  KHAN 

A    Vision  in  a  Dream 

In  Xanadu  did  Kubla  Khan 
A  stately  pleasure-dome  decree  : 
Where  Alph,  the  sacred  river,  ran 
Through  caverns  measureless  to  man 

Down  to  a  sunless  sea. 
So  twice  five  miles  of  fertile  ground 
With  walls  and  towers  were  girdled  round  : 
And  there  were  gardens  bright  with  sinuous  rills 
Where  blossom'd  many  an  incense-bearing  tree  ; 
And  here  were  forests  ancient  as  the  hills, 
Enfolding  sunny  spots  of  greenery. 

97  wist,  knew  2  decree,  order  to  be  built 

8  sinuous,  winding 


of  English  Song  97 

But  oh  !  that  deep  romantic  chasm  which  slanted 

Down  the  green  hill  athwart  a  cedarn  cover  ! 

A  savage  place  !  as  holy  and  enchanted 

As  e'er  beneath  a  waning  moon  was  haunted 

By  woman  wailing  for  her  demon-lover  ! 

And    from    this    chasm,    with    ceaseless    turmoil 

seething, 
As  if  this  earth  in  fast  thick  pants  were  breathing, 
A  mighty  fountain  momently  was  forced  : 
Amid  whose  swift  half-intermitted  burst 
Huge  fragments  vaulted  like  rebounding  hail, 
Or  chaffy  grain  beneath  the  thresher's  flail  ; 
And  'mid  these  dancing  rocks  at  once  and  ever 
It  flung  up  momently  the  sacred  river. 
Five  miles  meandering  with  a  mazy  motion 
Through  wood  and  dale  the  sacred  river  ran, 
Then  reach'd  the  caverns  measureless  to  man, 
And  sank  in  tumult  to  a  lifeless  ocean  : 
And  'mid  this  tumult  Kubla  heard  from  far 
Ancestral  voices  prophesying  war  ! 

The  shadow  of  the  dome  of  pleasure 

Floated  midway  on  the  waves  ; 

Where  was  heard  the  mingled  measure 

From  the  fountain  and  the  caves. 
It  was  a  miracle  of  rare  device, 
A  sunny  pleasure-dome  with  caves  of  ice  ; 

A  damsel  with  a  dulcimer 

In  a  vision  once  I  saw  : 

It  was  an  Abyssinian  maid, 

And  on  her  dulcimer  she  play'd, 

Singing  of  Mount  Abora  ! 

Could  I  revive  within  me 

Her  symphony  and  song, 

12  chasm,  sharp  hollow 
13  cedarn,  of  cedais  19  momently,  every  moment 

20  intermitted,  stopping  25  meandering,  winding 

30  voices  of  his  forefathers  33  measicre,  song 

37  dulcimer,  guitar  43  symphony,  accompaniment 

H 


98  The  Children* s  Treasury 

To  such  a  deep  delight  'twould  win  me 
That  with  music  loud  and  long, 
I  would  build  that  dome  in  air, 
That  sunny  dome  !     Those  caves  of  ice  ! 
And  all  who  heard  should  see  them  there, 
And  all  should  cry  Beware  !  Beware  ! 
His  flashing  eyes,  his  floating  hair  ! 
Weave  a  circle  round  him  thrice, 
And  close  your  eyes  with  holy  dread, 
For  he  on  honey-dew  hath  fed, 
And  drunk  the  milk  of  Paradise  ! 

S.   T.   Coleridge 

*57* 
THE  ECHOING  GREEN 

The  sun  does  arise 

And  make  happy  the  skies  ; 

The  merry  bells  ring 

To  welcome  the  spring ; 

The  skylark  and  thrush, 

The  birds  of  the  bush, 

Sing  louder  around 

To  the  bells'  cheerful  sound  ; 

While  our  sports  shall  be  seen 

On  the  echoing  green. 

Old  John,  with  white  hair, 
Does  laugh  away  care, 
Sitting  under  the  oak, 
Among  the  old  folk. 
They  laugh  at  our  play, 
And  soon  they  all  say, 
'  Such,  such  were  the  joys 
'  When  we  all — girls  and  boys — 
'  In  our  youth-time  were  seen 
'  On  the  echoing  green.' 


of  English  Song  99 

Till  the  little  ones,  weary, 
No  more  can  be  merry  ; 
The  sun  does  descend, 
And  our  sports  have  an  end. 
Round  the  laps  of  their  mothers 
Many  sisters  and  brothers, 
Like  birds  in  their  nest, 
Are  ready  for  rest, 
And  sport  no  more  seen 
On  the  darkening  green. 

W.  Blake 


*58* 
A  CRADLE  SONG 

Sleep,  sleep,  beauty  bright, 
Dreaming  in  the  joys  of  night ; 
Sleep,  sleep  ;  in  thy  sleep 
Little  sorrows  sit  and  weep. 

Sweet  babe,  in  thy  face 
Soft  desires  I  can  trace, 
Secret  joys  and  secret  smiles, 
Little  pretty  infant  wiles. 

As  thy  softest  limbs  I  feel, 
Smiles  as  of  the  morning  steal 
O'er  thy  cheek,  and  o'er  thy  breast 
Where  thy  little  heart  doth  rest. 

Oh  the  cunning  wiles  that  creep 
In  thy  little  heart  asleep  ! 
When  thy  little  heart  doth  wake, 
Then  the  dreadful  light  shall  break. 

W.  Blake 

8  wiles,  tricks  16  light,  knowledge  of  life  with  its  dangers 

and  sufferings. 

H    2 


ioo  The  Children's  Treasury 

*  59* 

THE  ORPHAN  CHILDREN 

I  REACH'D  the  village  on  the  plain, 

Just  when  the  setting  sun's  last  ray- 
Shone  blazing  on  the  golden  vane 
Of  the  old  church  across  the  way. 

Across  the  way  alone  I  sped, 

And  climb'd  the  stile,  and  sat  me  there, 
To  think  in  silence  on  the  dead 

Who  in  the  churchyard  sleeping  were. 

There  many  a  long,  low  grave  I  view'd 
Where  toil  and  want  in  quiet  lie  ; 

And  costly  slabs  amongst  them  stood 
That  bore  the  names  of  rich  and  high. 

One  new  made  mound  I  saw  close  by, 
O'er  which  the  grasses  hardly  crept, 

Where,  looking  forth  with  listless  eye, 
Two  ragged  children  sat  and  wept. 

A  piece  of  bread  between  them  lay, 
Which  neither  seem'd  as  it  could  take  ; 

And  yet  so  worn  and  white  were  they 
With  want,  it  made  my  bosom  ache. 

I  look'd  a  while,  and  said  at  last, 
'  Why  in  such  sorrow  sit  you  here  ? 

'  And  why  the  food  you  leave  and  waste 

'  Which  your  own  hunger  well  might  cheer  ?' 

The  boy  rose  instant  to  his  feet, 
And  said  with  gentle,  eager  haste, 

'  Lady,  we've  not  enough  to  eat :' 
'  O  if  we  had,  we  should  not  waste  ! 

'  But  sister  Mary's  naughty  grown, 
'  And  will  not  eat,  whate'er  I  say  ; 

'  Though  sure  I  am  the  bread 's  her  own, 
'  For  she  has  tasted  none  to-day  !' 


of  English  Song 

'  Indeed,'  the  poor  starved  Mary  said, 
'  Till  Henry  eats,  I'll  eat  no  more  ; 

'  For  yesterday  I  had  some  bread  ; 
'  He's  had  none  since  the  day  before.' 

My  heart  with  pity  swell'd  so  high 
I  could  not  speak  a  single  word  : 

Yet  the  boy  straightway  made  reply, 
As  if  my  inward  wish  he  heard. 

'  Before  our  father  went  away, 

'  By  bad  men  tempted  o'er  the  sea, 

'  Sister  and  I  did  nought  but  play ; — 
'  We  lived  beside  yon  great  ash-tree. 

'  But  then  poor  mother  did  so  cry, 

'  And  look'd  so  changed,  I  cannot  tell ! 

'  She  told  us  that  she  soon  should  die, 
'  And  bade  us  love  each  other  well. 

'  She  said  that  when  the  war  was  o'er, 
'  Perhaps  our  father  we  might  see  : 

'  But  if  we  never  saw  him  more, 
'  That  God  would  then  our  father  be. 

'  She  kiss'd  us  both,  and  then  she  died, 
'  And  then  they  put  her  in  the  grave  : 

'  There  many  a  day  we've  sat  and  cried 
'  That  we  no  more  a  mother  have. 

'  But  when  our  father  came  not  here, 
'  I  thought  if  we  could  find  the  sea 

'  We  should  be  sure  to  meet  him  there, 
'  And  once  again  might  happy  be. 

'  So  hand-in-hand  for  many  a  mile, 
'  And  many  a  long,  long  day  we  went  : 

'  Some  sigh'd  to  see,  some  turn'd  to  smile, 
'  And  fed  us  when  our  stock  was  spent. 


102  The  Children's  Treasury 

1  But  when  we  reach'd  the  sea,  and  found 
'  'Twas  one  great  flood  before  us  spread, 

'  We  thought  that  father  must  be  drown'd, 
1  And  cried,  and  wish'd  we  too  were  dead. 

'  So  we  came  back  to  mother's  grave, 

'  And  only  long  with  her  to  be  : 
'  For  Goody,  when  this  bread  she  gave, 

1  Said  father  died  beyond  the  sea. 

'  So,  since  no  parent  we  have  here, 

'  We'll  go  and  search  for  God  around  : — 

'  Pray,  Lady,  can  you  tell  us  where 

'  That  God,  our  Father,  may  be  found  ? 

'  He  lives  in  heaven,  mother  said  : 

'  And  Goody  says  that  mother  's  there  : 

1  But  though  we've  walk'd,  and  search'd,  and  pray'd, 
'  We  cannot  find  them  anywhere  ! ' 

I  clasp'd  the  prattlers  in  my  arms, 

I  cried,  '  Come,  both,  and  live  with  me  ! 

'  I'll  clothe  and  feed  you,  safe  from  harms — 
'  Your  second  mother  I  will  be. 

'  Till  you  to  your  own  mother's  side 
'  He  in  his  own  good  time  may  call, 

'  With  Him  for  ever  to  abide 
1  Who  is  the  Father  of  us  all !' 

Unknown 

*  6o  * 

THE  CHILD  AND   THE  MOWERS 
Dorset  Dialect 

O,  AYE  !  they  had  woone  chile  bezlde, 

An'  a  finer  your  eyes  never  met  ; 
'Twer  a  dear  little  fellow  that  died 

In  the  zummer  that  come  wi'  such  het ; 

i  luoone,  one  3  'Twer,  it  was  4  Itet,  heat 


of  English  Song  103 

By  the  mowers,  too  thoughtless  in  fun, 
He  wer  then  a-zent  off  vrom  our  eyes, 

Vrom  the  light  ov  the  dew-dry  en  zun, — 
Aye  !  vrom  days  under  blue-hollowed  skies. 

He  went  out  to  the  mowers  in  mead, 

When  the  zun  wer  a-rose  to  his  height, 
An'  the  men  wer  a-swingen  the  snead, 

Wi'  their  earms  in  white  sleeves,  left  an'  right  : — 
An'  out  there,  as  they  rested  at  noon, 

O  !  they  drench'd  en  wi'  eale-horns  too  deep, 
Till  his  thoughts  wer  a-drown'd  in  a  swoon  ; 

Aye !  his  life  wer  a-smother'd  in  sleep. 

Then  they  laid  en  there-right  on  the  ground, 

On  a  grass-heap,  a-zweltren  wi'  het, 
Wi'  his  heair  all  a-wetted  around 

His  young  feace,  wi'  the  big  drops  o'  zweat ; 
In  his  little  left  palm  he'd  a-zet 

Wi'  his  right  hand,  his  vore-vinger's  tip, 
As  for  zome'hat  he  woulden  forget,— 

Aye  !  zome  thought  that  he  woulden  let  slip. 

Then  they  took  en  in  hwome  to  his  bed, 

An'  he  rose  vrom  his  pillow  noo  mwore, 
Vor  the  curls  on  his  sleek  little  head 

To  be  blown  by  the  wind  out  o'  door. 
Vor  he  died  while  the  hay  russled  gray 

On  the  staddle  so  leately  begun, 
Lik'  the  mown-grass  a-dried  by  the  day, — 

Aye  !  the  zwath-flow'r's  a-kill'd  by  the  zun. 

W.  Barnes 

6  a-zent,  sent         7  dryen,  drying        9  in  ?nead,  in  the  meadow 
11  snead,  handle  of  scythe  14  en,  him:  eale-horns,  full  of  ale 

18  a-zweltren,  sweltering  21  a-zet,  put 

23  zome'hat,  something  :  ivoitlden,  would  not 

26  noo  mwore,  no  m^re 

30  staddle,  platform  on  which  the  rick  stands 

32  ziuath-Jiower,  cut  down  witli  the  swath 


104  The  Children's  Treasury 

*  6l  * 

ELLEN  BRINE  OF  ALLENBURN 

Dorset  dialect 

Noo  soul  did  hear  her  lips  complain, 
An'  she's  a-gone  vrom  all  her  pain, 
An'  others'  loss  to  her  is  gain 
For  she  do  live  in  heaven's  love  ; 
Vull  many  a  longsome  day  an'  week 
She  bore  her  ailen,  still,  an'  meek  ; 
A-worken  while  her  strangth  held  on, 
An'  guiden  housework,  when  'twer  gone. 

Vor  Ellen  Brine  of  Allenburn 

Oh  !  there  be  souls  to  mum. 

The  last  time  I'd  a-cast  my  zight 
Upon  her  feace,  a-feaded  white, 
Wer  in  a  zummer's  mornen  light 
In  hall  avore  the  smwold'ren  vire, 
The  while  the  childern  beat  the  vloor 
In  play,  wi'  tiny  shoes  they  wore, 
An'  call'd  their  mother's  eyes  to  view 
The  feats  their  little  limbs  could  do. 

Oh  !  Ellen  Brine  of  Allenburn, 

They  childern  now  mus'  murn. 

Then  woone,  a-stoppen  vrom  his  reace, 
Went  up,  an'  on  her  knee  did  pleace 
His  hand,  a-looken  in  her  feace, 
An'  wi'  a  smilen  mouth  so  small, 
He  zaid,  '  You  promised  us  to  goo 
'  To  Shroton  feair,  an'  teake  us  two  ! ' 

2  an',  and  :  vrom,  from :  v  used  for./"  in  Dorset 

6  ailen,  illness  7  a-worken,  working  10  murn,  mourn 

izjeaded,  faded        14  avore,  before  :  smwold'ren,  smouldering 

21  woone,  one :  reace,  running 


of  English  Song  105 

She  heard  it  wi'  her  two  white  ears, 

An'  in  her  eyes  there  sprung  two  tears  : — 

Vor  Ellen  Brine  of  Allenburn 

Did  veel  that  they  mus'  mum. 

September  come,  wi'  Shroton  feair, 
But  Ellen  Brine  wer  never  there  ! 
A  heavy  heart  wer  on  the  meare 
Their  father  rod  his  hwomeward  road. 
'Tis  true  he  brought  some  fearens  back, 
Vor  them  two  childern  all  in  black  ; 
But  they  had  now,  wi'  playthings  new, 
Noo  mother  vor  to  show  em  to  : — 

Vor  Ellen  Brine  of  Allenburn 

Would  never  mwore  return. 

W.  Barnes 

*  62  * 
HELVELLYN 

I  climb'd  the  dark  brow  of  the  mighty  Helvellyn, 
Lakes  and  mountains  beneath  me  gleam'd  misty 
and  wide ; 
All  was  still,  save  by  fits,  when  the  eagle  was  yelling, 

And  starting  around  me  the  echoes  replied. 
On  the  right,  Striden-edge  round  the  Red-tarn  was 

bending, 
And  Catchedicam  its  left  verge  was  defending, 
One  huge  nameless  rock  in  the  front  was  ascending, 
When  I  mark'd  the  sad  spot  where  the  wanderer 
had  died. 

Dark  green  was  that  spot  'mid  the  brown  mountain 
heather, 
Where  the   Pilgrim  of  Nature  lay  stretch'd  in 
decay, 

33  meare,  mare  35  feUrins,  fairings 

1  brow,  mountain-side  3  by  fits,  now  and  then 

6  verge,  edge  :  defending,  sheltering 
10  Pilgrim,  wanderer  who  admired  the  natural  landscape 


Io6  The  Childrefi's  Treasury 

Like  the  corpse  of  an  outcast  abandon'd  to  weather 
Till  the  mountain-winds  wasted  the  tenantless  clay. 
Nor  yet  quite  deserted,  though  lonely  extended, 
For,  faithful  in  death,  his  mute  favourite  attended, 
The  much-loved  remains  of  her  master  defended, 
And  chased  the  hill-fox  and  the  raven  away. 

How  long   didst   thou  think  that  his   silence  was 
slumber  ? 
When  the  wind  waved  his  garment,  how  oft  didst 
thou  start  ? 
How  many  long  days  and  long  weeks  didst  thou 
number, 
Ere  he    faded   before   thee,   the   friend   of   thy 
heart  ? 
And,  oh !  was  it  meet,  that — no  requiem  read  o'er 

him — 
No  mother  to  weep,  and  no  friend  to  deplore  him, 
And  thou,  little   guardian,  alone   stretch'd    before 
him — 
Unhonour'd  the  Pilgrim  from  life  should  depart  ? 

When   a   Prince  to   the  fate   of  the  Peasant  has 
yielded, 
The  tapestry  waves  dark  round  the  dim-lighted 
hall ; 
With  scutcheons  of  silver  the  coffin  is  shielded, 
And  pages  stand  mute  by  the  canopied  pall  : 
Through  the  courts,  at  deep  midnight,  the  torches 

are  gleaming  ; 
In  the  proudly-arch'd  chapel  the  banners  are  beam- 
ing" ■ 
Far  adown  the  long  aisle  sacred  music  is  streaming, 
Lamenting  a  Chief  of  the  People  should  fall. 

12  tenantless  clay,  body  without  soul     13  extended,  stretched  out 

14  mute  favourite,  speechless  dog 
.   21  meet,  fit  :  requiem,  funeral  service  25  has  died 

26  tapestry,  rich  hangings  on  walls         27  scutclieons,  shields 

28  pages,  servants  :  canopied,  covered 


of  English  Song  107 

But  meeter  for  thee,  gentle  lover  of  nature, 
To  lay  down  thy  head  like  the  meek  mountain 
lamb, 
When,  wilder'd,  he  drops  from  some  cliff  huge  in 
stature, 
And  draws  his  last  sob  by  the  side  of  his  dam. 
And  more  stately  thy  couch  by  this  desert  lake  lying, 
Thy  obsequies  sung  by  the  gray  plover  flying, 
With  one  faithful  friend  but  to  witness  thy  dying, 
In  the  arms  of  Helvellyn  and  Catchedicam. 

Sir  W.  Scott 

*  63  * 
A    REVERIE 

When,  musing  on  companions  gone, 
We  doubly  feel  ourselves  alone, 
Something,  my  Friend,  we  yet  may  gain  ; 
There  is  a  pleasure  in  this  pain  : 
It  soothes  the  love  of  lonely  rest, 
Deep  in  each  gentler  heart  impress'd. 
'Tis  silent  amid  worldly  toils, 
And  stifled  soon  by  mental  broils  ; 
But,  in  a  bosom  thus  prepared, 
Its  still  small  voice  is  often  heard, 
Whispering  a  mingled  sentiment, 
'Twixt  resignation  and  content. 

Oft  in  my  mind  such  thoughts  awake, 

By  lone  Saint  Mary's  silent  lake  ; 

Thou  know'st  it  well,— nor  fen,  nor  sedge, 

Pollute  the  pure  lake's  crystal  edge  ; 

Abrupt  and  sheer,  the  mountains  sink 

At  once  upon  the  level  brink  ; 

And  just  a  trace  of  silver  sand 

Marks  where  the  water  meets  the  land. 

33  meeter,  fitter      38  obsequies,  funeral  service      40  surrounded  by 
1  musing,  thinking         6  impressed,  stamped         8  by  troubles  of 
the  mind  16  pollute,  spoil  17  going  straight  up 


108  The  Children's  Treasury 

Far  in  the  mirror,  bright  and  blue, 

Each  hill's  huge  outline  you  may  view  ; 

Shaggy  with  heath,  but  lonely  bare, 

Nor  tree,  nor  bush,  nor  brake,  is  there, 

Save  where,  of  land,  yon  slender  line 

Bears  thwart  the  lake  the  scatter'd  pine. 

Yet  even  this  nakedness  has  power, 

And  aids  the  feeling  of  the  hour  : 

Nor  thicket,  dell,  nor  copse  you  spy, 

Where  living  thing  conceal'd  might  lie ; 

Nor  point,  retiring,  hides  a  dell, 

Where  swain,  or  woodman  lone,  might  dwell ; 

There's  nothing  left  to  fancy's  guess, 

You  see  that  all  is  loneliness  : 

And  silence  aids — though  the  steep  hills 

Send  to  the  lake  a  thousand  rills  ; 

In  summer-tide,  so  soft  they  weep, 

The  sound  but  lulls  the  ear  asleep  ; 

Your  horse's  hoof-tread  sounds  too  rude, 

So  stilly  is  the  solitude. 

Sir  W.  Scott 

*  64  * 

SUCH   IS  LIFE 

Like  to  the  falling  of  a  star, 
Or  as  the  flights  of  eagles  are, 
Or  like  the  fresh  Spring's  gaudy  hue, 
Or  silver  drops  of  morning  dew  ; 
Or  like  a  wind  that  chafes  the  flood, 
Or  bubbles  which  on  water  stood  ; — 
E'en  such  is  man,  whose  borrow'd  light 
Is  straight  call'd  in  and  paid  to-night. 
The  wind  blows  out,  the  bubble  dies, 
The  Spring  entomb'd  in  Autumn  lies  ; 
The  dew  dries  up,  the  star  is  shot, 
The  flight  is  past  ; — and  Man  forgot. 

Bishop  King 
26  thwart,  crossing       36  rills,  little  streams      10  entomb'd,  buried 


of  English  Song  ioo 

*  65  * 

JOHN  ANDERSON 

John  Anderson  my  jo,  John, 
When  we  were  first  acquent 
Your  locks  were  like  the  raven, 
Your  bonnie  brow  was  brent ; 
But  now  your  brow  is  bald,  John, 
Your  locks  are  like  the  snow  ; 
But  blessings  on  your  frosty  pow, 
John  Anderson  my  jo. 

John  Anderson  my  jo,  John, 
We  clamb  the  hill  thegither, 
And  mony  a  canty  day,  John, 
We've  had  wi'  ane  anither  : 
Now  we  maun  totter  down,  John, 
But  hand  in  hand  we'll  go, 
And  sleep  thegither  at  the  foot, 
John  Anderson  my  jo. 

R.  Burns 

*  66  * 

A  LESSON 

There  is  a  flower,  the  Lesser  Celandine, 
That  shrinks  like  many  more  from  cold  and  rain, 
And  the  first  moment  that  the  sun  may  shine, 
Bright  as  the  sun  himself,  'tis  out  again  ! 

When   hailstones    have   been    falling,    swarm    on 

swarm, 
Or  blasts  the  green  field  and  the  trees  distrest, 
Oft  have  I  seen  it  muffled  up  from  harm 
In  close  self-shelter,  like  a  thing  at  rest. 

1  jo,  love  2  acquent,  acquainted  4  brent,  smooth 

7  pow,  head         10  thegither,  together  11  canty,  cheerful 

13  maun,  must 


no  The  Children's  Treasury 

But  lately,  one  rough  day,  this  flower  I  past, 
And  recognized  it,  though  an  alter'd  form, 
Now  standing  forth  an  offering  to  the  blast, 
And  buffeted  at  will  by  rain  and  storm. 

I  stopp'd  and  said,  with  inly-mutter'd  voice, 
'  It  doth  not  love  the  shower,  nor  seek  the  cold  ; 
'  This  neither  is  its  courage  nor  its  choice, 
'  But  its  necessity  in  being  old. 

'  The  sunshine  may  not  cheer  it,  nor  the  dew  ; 
'  It  cannot  help  itself  in  its  decay  ; 
'  Stiff  in  its  members,  wither'd,  changed  of  hue,' 
And,  in  my  spleen,  I  smiled  that  it  was  gray. 

To  be  a  prodigal's  favourite — then,  worse  truth, 
A  miser's  pensioner— behold  our  lot  ! 
O  Man  !  that  from  thy  fair  and  shining  youth 
Age  might  but  take  the  things  Youth  needed  not ! 

W.  Wordsworth 

*  67  * 
TRUE   GROWTH 

It  is  not  growing  like  a  tree 
In  bulk,  doth  make  Man  better  be  ; 
Or  standing  long  an  oak,  three  hundred  year, 
To  fall  a  log  at  last,  dry,  bald,  and  sere  : 
A  lily  of  a  day- 
Is  fairer  far  in  May, 
Although  it  fall  and  die  that  night — 
It  was  the  plant  and  flower  of  Light  ! 
In  small  proportions  we  just  beauties  see  ; 
And  in  short  measures  life  may  perfect  be. 

B.  Jbnson 

21  a  prodigaVs  favourite,  wasting  the  many  gifts  of  Youth 

22  a  miser's  pensioner,  getting  the  little  we  can  from  Age 

9  just,  true 


of  English  Sons;  in 

*68  * 

FLOWERS    WITHOUT  FRUIT 

PRUNE  thou  thy  words  ;  the  thoughts  control 
That  o'er  thee  swell  and  throng  : — 

They  will  condense  within  thy  soul, 
And  change  to  purpose  strong. 

But  he  who  lets  his  feelings  run 

In  soft  luxurious  flow, 
Shrinks  when  hard  service  must  be  done, 

And  faints  at  every  woe. 

Faith's  meanest  deed  more  favour  bears, 
Where  hearts  and  wills  are  weigh'd, 

Than  brightest  transports,  choicest  prayers, 
Which  bloom  their  hour,  and  fade. 

y.  H.  Newman 

*  69  * 
CONTENTMENT 

My  mind  to  me  a  kingdom  is  ; 

Such  perfec.  joy  therein  I  find, 
As  far  exceeds  all  earthly  bliss 

That  world  affords,  or  grows  by  kind  : 
Though  much  I  want  what  most  men  have, 
Yet  doth  my  mind  forbid  me  crave. 

Content  I  live — this  is  my  stay  ; 

I  seek  no  more  than  may  suffice  : 
I  press  to  bear  no  haughty  sway  ; 

Look — what  I  lack,  my  mind  supplies  ! 
Lo  !  thus  I  triumph  like  a  king, 
Content  with  that  my  mind  doth  bring. 

3  condense,  grow  close  and  strong 

4  by  kind,  naturally  6  crave,  desire 

7  stay,  support  8  suffice,  be  enough         9  press,  strive 


112  The  Children's  Treasury 

I  see  how  plenty  surfeits  oft, 
And  hasty  climbers  soonest  fall ; 

I  see  how  those  that  sit  aloft 

Mishap  doth  threaten  most  of  all  ; 

These  get  with  toil,  and  keep  with  fear  : 

Such  cares  my  mind  could  never  bear. 

I  laugh  not  at  another's  loss  ; 

I  grudge  not  at  another's  gain  ; 
No  worldly  wave  my  mind  can  toss ; 

I  brook  that  is  another's  pain. 
I  fear  no  foe  :  I  scorn  no  friend  : 
I  dread  no  death  :  I  fear  no  end. 

Some  have  too  much,  yet  still  they  crave  ; 

I  little  have,  yet  seek  no  more  : 
They  are  but  poor,  though  much  they  have, 

And  I  am  rich,  with  little  store. 
They  poor,  I  rich  :  they  beg,  I  give  : 
They  lack,  I  lend  :^  they  pine,  I  live. 

I  wish  but  what  I  have  at  will  : 

I  wander  not  to  seek  for  more  : 
I  like  the  plain  ;  I  climb  no  hill  : 

In  greatest  storm  I  sit  on  shore, 
And  laugh  at  those  that  toil  in  vain, 
To  get  what  must  be  lost  again. 
— This  is  my  choice  ;  for  why  ? — I  find 
No  wealth  is  like  a  quiet  mind. 

Unknown 

*  jo  * 
THE  SEARCH  FOR   PEACE 

Sweet  Peace,  where  dost  thou  dwell  ?    I  humbly 
crave, 

Let  me  once  know. 
I  sought  thee  in  a  secret  cave, 
And  ask'd,  if  Peace  were  there  ? 

13  surfeits,  sickens  22  brook  that,  bear  easily  what 

31  at  will,  at  command  1  crave,  beg  to  know 


of  English  Song  1 1 3 

A  hollow  wind  did  seem  to  answer,  '  No  : — 
'  Go  seek  elsewhere.' 

I  did  ;  and  going  did  a  rainbow  note  : 
Surely,  thought  I, 
This  is  the  lace  of  Peace's  coat  : 
I  will  search  out  the  matter. 
But  while  I  look'd,  the  clouds  immediately 
Did  break  and  scatter. 

Then  went  I  to  a  garden,  and  did  spy 
A  gallant  flower, 
The  Crown  Imperial  :  Sure,  said  I, 
Peace  at  the  root  must  dwell. 
But  when  I  digg'd,  I  saw  a  worm  devour 
What  show'd  so  well. 

At  length  I  met  a  reverend  good  old  man  : 
Whom  when  for  Peace 
I  did  demand,  he  thus  began  : 
'  There  was  a  Prince  of  old 
'  At  Salem  dwelt,  who  lived  with  good  increase 
'  Of  flock  and  fold. 

'  He  sweetly  lived  ;  yet  sweetness  did  not  save 
'  His  life  from  foes. 
'But  after  death,  out  of  his  grave 

'  There  sprang  twelve  stalks  of  wheat : 
'  Which  many  wondering  at,  got  some  of  those 
'  To  plant  and  set. 

'  It  prosper^  strangely,  and  did  soon  disperse 
'  Through  all  the  earth  : 
'  For  they  that  taste  it  do  rehearse, 
'  That  virtue  lies  therein  ; 
'A  secret  virtue,  bringing  peace  and  mirth 
'  By  flight  of  sin. 

31  it,  the  Gospel  33  rehearse,  say         35  virtue,  power 

I 


114  The  Children's   Treasury 

Take  of  this  grain,  which  in  my  garden  grows, 
'  And  grows  for  you  ; 
'  Make  bread  of  it : — and  that  repose 
'  And  peace,  which  everywhere 
With  so  much  earnestness  you  do  pursue, 
'  Is  only  there.' 

G.  Herbert 

*  yu 

THE  KITTEN  AND  FALLING  LEAVES. 

That  way  look,  my  Infant,  lo  ! 
What  a  pretty  baby-show  ! 
See  the  Kitten  on  the  wall, 
Sporting  with  the  leaves  that  fall, 
Wither'd  leaves — one — two — and  three — 
From  the  lofty  elder- tree  ! 
Through  the  calm  and  frosty  air 
Of  this  morning  bright  and  fair, 
Eddying  round  and  round  they  sink 
Softly,  slowly  :  one  might  think, 
From  the  motions  that  are  made, 
Every  little  leaf  convey'd 
Sylph  or  Faery  hither  tending, — 
To  this  lower  world  descending, 
Each  invisible  and  mute, 
In  his  wavering  parachute. 

But  the  Kitten,  how  she  starts, 

Crouches,  stretches,  paws,  and  darts  ! 
First  at  one,  and  then  its  fellow 
Just  as  light  and  just  as  yellow  ; 
There  are  many  now — now  one — 
Now  they  stop,  and  there  are  none  : 
What  intenseness  of  desire 
In  her  upward  eye  of  fire  ! 

9  eddying,  turning  13  Sylph,  learned  name  for  fairy 

16  parachute,  machine  to  float  slowly  down  in  the  air 

23  intenseness,  strength 


of  English  Song  115 

With  a  tiger-leap  half  way 

Now  she  meets  the  coming  prey, 

Lets  it  go  as  fast,  and  then 

Has  it  in  her  power  again  : 

Now  she  works  with  three  or  four, 

Like  an  Indian  conjuror  ; 

Quick  as  he  in  feats  of  art, 

Far  beyond  in  joy  of  heart. 

Were  her  antics  play'd  in  th'  eye 

Of  a  thousand  standers-by, 

Clapping  hands  with  shout  and  stare, 

What  would  little  Tabby  care 

For  the  plaudits  of  the  crowd  ? 

Over  happy  to  be  proud, 

Over  wealthy  in  the  treasure 

Of  her  own  exceeding  pleasure  ! 

'Tis  a  pretty  baby-treat ; 
Nor,  I  deem,  for  me  unmeet ; 
Here,  for  neither  Babe  nor  me, 
Other  play-mate  can  I  see. 
Of  the  countless  living  things, 
That  with  stir  of  feet  and  wings 
(In  the  sun  or  under  shade, 
Upon  bough  or  grassy  blade) 
And  with  busy  revellings, 
Chirp  and  song,  and  murmurings, 
Made  this  orchard's  narrow  space 
And  this  vale  so  blithe  a  place, — 
Multitudes  are  swept  away 
Never  more  to  breathe  the  day  : 
Some  are  sleeping  :  some  in  bands 
Travell'd  into  distant  lands  ; 
Others  slunk  to  moor  and  wood, 
Far  from  human  neighbourhood  ; 
And,  among  the  Kinds  that  keep 
With  us  closer  fellowship, 

31  feats,  tricks         37  plaudits,  shouts        42  unmeet,  unfit 

I    2 


n6  The  Children's  Treasury 

With  us  openly  abide, 

All  have  laid  their  mirth  aside. 

Where  is  he  that  giddy  Sprite, 
Blue-cap,  with  his  colours  bright, 
Who  was  blest  as  bird  could  be, 
Feeding  in  the  apple-tree  ; 
Made  such  wanton  spoil  and  rout, 
Turning  blossoms  inside  out  ; 
Hung— head  pointing  towards  the  ground- 
Flutter'd,  perch'd,  into  a  round 
Bound  himself,  and  then  unbound  ; 
Lithest,  gaudiest  Harlequin  ! 
Prettiest  Tumbler  ever  seen  ! 
Light  of  heart  and  light  of  limb  ; 
What  is  now  become  of  Him  ? 
Lambs,  that  through  the  mountains  went 
Frisking,  bleating  merriment, 
When  the  year  was  in  its  prime, 
They  are  sober'd  by  this  time. 
If  you  look  to  vale  or  hill, 
If  you  listen,  all  is  still, 
Save  a  little  neighbouring  rill, 
That  from  out  the  rocky  ground 
Strikes  a  solitary  sound. 
Vainly  glitter  hill  and  plain, 
And  the  air  is  calm  in  vain  ; 
Vainly  Morning  spreads  the  lure 
Of  a  sky  serene  and  pure  ; 
Creature  none  can  she  decoy 
Into  open  sign  of  joy  : 
Is  it  that  they  have  a  fear 
Of  the  dreary  season  near  ? 
Or  that  other  pleasures  be 
Sweeter  e'en  than  gaiety? 

Yet,  whate'er  enjoyments  dwell 

87  Morning  in  vain  tempts  89  decoy,  tempt 


of  English  Song  117 

In  the  impenetrable  cell 

Of  the  silent  heart  which  Nature 

Furnishes  to  every  creature  ; 

Whatsoe'er  we  feel  and  know 

Too  sedate  for  outward  show, 

Such  a  light  of  gladness  breaks, 

Pretty  Kitten  !  from  thy  freaks,-  - 

Spreads  with  such  a  living  grace 

O'er  my  little  Dora's  face  ; 

Yes,  the  sight  so  stirs  and  charms 

Thee,  Baby,  laughing  in  my  arms, 

That  almost  I  could  repine 

That  your  transports  are  not  mine, 

That  I  do  not  wholly  fare 

Even  as  ye  do,  thoughtless  pair  ! 

And  I  will  have  my  careless  season, 

Spite  of  melancholy  reason  ; 

Will  walk  through  life  in  such  a  way 

That,  when  time  brings  on  decay, 

Now  and  then  I  may  possess 

Hours  of  perfect  gladsomeness. 

— Pleased  by  any  random  toy  ; 

By  a  kitten's  busy  joy, 

Or  an  infant's  laughing  eye 

Sharing  in  the  ecstasy  ; 

I  would  fare  like  that  or  this 

Find  my  wisdom  in  my  bliss  ; 

Keep  the  sprightly  soul  awake  ; 

And  have  faculties  to  take, 

Even  from  things  by  sorrow  wrought, 

Matter  for  a  jocund  thought  ; 

Spite  of  care,  and  spite  of  grief, 

To  gambol  with  Life's  falling  Leaf. 

W.   Wordsworth 

6,  97  We  cannot  look  into  the  hearts  of  living  creatures 
100  sedate,  saddening  107  repine,  regret 

108  transports,  delights  124  faculties,  powers 


Ii8  The  Children's  Treasury 

A    SONG    OF   PRAISE 

To  God,  ye  choir  above,  begin 

A  hymn  so  loud  and  strong 
That  all  the  universe  may  hear 

And  join  the  grateful  song. 

Praise  Him,  thou  sun,  Who  dwells  unseen 

Amidst  transcendent  light, 
Where  thy  refulgent  orb  would  seem 

A  spot,  as  dark  as  night. 

Thou  silver  moon,  ye  host  of  stars, 

The  universal  song 
Through  the  serene  and  silent  night 

To  listening  worlds  prolong. 

Sing  Him,  ye  distant  worlds  and  suns, 
From  whence  no  travelling  ray 

Hath  yet  to  us,  through  ages  past, 
Had  time  to  make  its  way. 

Assist,  ye  raging  storms,  and  bear 

On  rapid  wings  His  praise, 
From  north  to  south,  from  east  to  west, 

Through  heaven,  and  earth,  and  seas. 

Exert  your  voice,  ye  furious  fires 

That  rend  the  watery  cloud, 
And  thunder  to  this  nether  world 

Your  Maker's  words  aloud. 

Ye  works  of  God,  that  dwell  unknown 

Beneath  the  rolling  main  ; 
Ye  birds,  that  sing  among  the  groves, 

And  sweep  the  azure  plain ; 

i  choir,  all  Nature  6  transcendent,  surpassingly  bright 

7  refulgent,  shining  n  serene,  clear 

13  stars  so  distant  that  their  light  has  not  yet  reached  us 

21  fires,  lightnings  23  nether,  lower  28  the  sky 


of  English  Song  119 

Ye  stately  hills,  that  rear  your  heads, 

And  towering  pierce  the  sky  ; 
Ye  clouds,  that  with  an  awful  pace 

Majestic  roll  on  high  ; 

Ye  insects  small,  to  which  one  leaf 

Within  its  narrow  sides 
A  vast  extended  world  displays, 

And  spacious  realms  provides  ; 

Ye  race,  still  less  than  these,  with  which 

The  stagnant  water  teems, 
To  which  one  drop,  however  small, 

A  boundless  ocean  seems  ; 

What  e'er  ye  are,  where'er  ye  dwell, 

Ye  creatures  great  or  small, 
Adore  the  wisdom,  praise  the  power, 

That  made  and  governs  all. 

P.  Skelton 

*73  * 

THE  SONG  OF  DAVID 

He  sang  of  God,  the  mighty  source 
Of  all  things,  the  stupendous  force 

On  which  all  strength  depends  ; 
From  whose  right  arm,  beneath  whose  eyes, 
All  period,  power,  and  enterprize 

Commences,  reigns,  and  ends. 

The  world,  the  clustering  spheres  he  made, 
The  glorious  light,  the  soothing  shade, 

Dale,  champaign,  grove,  and  hill  : 
The  multitudinous  abyss, 
Where  secresy  remains  in  bliss, 

And  wisdom  hides  her  skill. 

7  spheres,  stars  9  champaign,  level  country 

10  aiyss,  space 


:o  The  Children's  Treasury 

Tell  them,  I  AM,  Jehovah  said 

To  Moses  :  while  Earth  heard  in  dread, 

And,  smitten  to  the  heart, 
At  once,  above,  beneath,  around, 
All  Nature,  without  voice,  or  sound, 

Replied,  «  O  Lord,  THOU  ART.5 

C.  Smart 

*74* 

THE  TRAVELLER 

How  are  thy  servants  blest,  O  Lord  ! 

How  sure  is  their  defence  ! 
Eternal  wisdom  is  their  guide, 

Their  help,  Omnipotence. 

In  foreign  realms,  and  lands  remote, 

Supported  by  Thy  care, 
Through  burning  climes  I  pass'd  unhurt, 

And  breathed  in  tainted  air. 

Thy  mercy  sweeten'd  every  soil, 

Made  every  region  please  ; 
The  hoary  Alpine  hills  it  warm'd, 

And  smoothed  the  Tyrrhene  seas. 

Think,  O  my  soul,  devoutly  think, 

How,  with  affrighted  eyes, 
Thou  saw'st  the  wide-extended  deep 

In  all  its  horrors  rise. 

Confusion  dwelt  in  every  face, 

And  fear  in  every  heart ; 
When  waves  on  waves,  and  gulfs  on  gulfs, 

O'ercame  the  pilot's  art. 

4  Omnipotence,  all  powerfulness  5  realms,  kingdoms 

11  Switzerland  12  North  western  coast  of  Italy 

17  No  one  knew  what  to  do 


of  English  Song  12 1 

Yet  then  from  all  my  griefs,  O  Lord, 

Thy  mercy  set  me  free  ; 
Whilst,  in  the  confidence  of  prayer, 

My  soul  took  hold  on  Thee. 

For  though  in  dreadful  whirls  we  hung 

High  on  the  broken  wave, 
I  knew  Thou  wert  not  slow  to  hear, 

Nor  impotent  to  save. 

-The  storm  was  laid  ;  the  winds  retired, 

Obedient  to  Thy  will ; 
The  sea  that  roar'd  at  Thy  command, 
At  Thy  command  was  still. 

J.  Addison 

*75* 

WRITTEN  IN  EARLY  SPRING. 

I  HEARD  a  thousand  blended  notes 
While  in  a  grove  I  sat  reclined, 
In  that  sweet  mood  when  pleasant  thoughts 
Bring  sad  thoughts  to  the  mind. 

To  her  fair  works  did  Nature  link 
The  human  soul  that  through  me  ran  ; 
And  much  it  grieved  my  heart  to  think 
What  Man  has  made  of  Man. 

Through  primrose  tufts,  in  that  sweet  bower, 
The  periwinkle  trail'd  its  wreaths  ; 
And  'tis  my  faith  that  every  flower 
Enjoys  the  air  it  breathes. 

28  impotent,  unable  29  laid,  stilled 

1  blended,  mixed  together  2  reclined,  resting 

3  mood,  humour  11  faith,  belief 


2  77/i?  Children's  Treasury 

The  birds  around  me  hopp'd  and  play'd  ; 
Their  thoughts  I  cannot  measure — 
But  the  least  motion  which  they  made 
It  seem'd  a  thrill  of  pleasure. 

The  budding  twigs  spread  out  their  fan 
To  catch  the  breezy  air  ; 
And  I  must  think,  do  all  I  can, 
That  there  was  pleasure  there. 

If  this  belief  from  Heaven  be  sent, 
If  such  be  Nature's  holy  plan, 
Have  I  not  reason  to  lament 
What  Man  has  made  of  Man? 

W.  Wordsworth 

*j6  * 
THE  RAINBOW 

Triumphal  arch,  that  fill'st  the  sky 
When  storms  prepare  to  part, 

I  ask  not  proud  Philosophy 
To  teach  me  what  thou  art. 

Still  seem,  as  to  my  childhood's  sight, 

A  midway  station  given, 
For  happy  spirits  to  alight, 

Betwixt  the  earth  and  heaven. 

Can  all  that  optics  teach,  unfold 

Thy  form  to  please  me  so, 
As  when  I  dreamt  of  gems  and  gold 

Hid  in  thy  radiant  bow  ? 

When  science  from  creation's  face 
Enchantment's  veil  withdraws, 

What  lovely  visions  yield  their  place 
To  cold  material  laws  ! 

i  arch  in  remembrance  of  victory  2  part,  clear  off 

9  optics,  laws  of  sight :  -unfold,  explain 
14  enchantment,  the  poetry  of  youth  16  laws  of  matter 


of  English  Song  123 

And  yet,  fair  bow,  no  fabling  dreams, 

But  words  of  the  Most  High, 
Have  told  why  first  thy  robe  of  beams 

Was  woven  in  the  sky. 

When  o'er  the  green  undeluged  earth 
Heaven's  covenant  thou  didst  shine, 

How  came  the  world's  gray  fathers  forth 
To  watch  thy  sacred  sign  ! 

And  when  its  yellow  lustre  smiled 

O'er  mountains  yet  untrod, 
Each  mother  held  aloft  her  child 

To  bless  the  bow  of  God. 

The  earth  to  thee  her  incense  yields, 

The  lark  thy  welcome  sings, 
When,  glittering  in  the  freshen'd  fields, 

The  snowy  mushroom  springs. 

How  glorious  is  thy  girdle,  cast 
O'er  mountain,  tower,  and  town, 

Or  mirror'd  in  the  ocean  vast 
A  thousand  fathoms  down  ! 

As  fresh  in  yon  horizon  dark, 

As  young  thy  beauties  seem, 
As  when  the  eagle  from  the  ark 

First  sported  in  thy  beam. 

For,  faithful  to  its  sacred  page, 

Heaven  still  rebuilds  thy  span  ; 

Nor  lets  the  type  grow  pale  with  age 

That  first  spoke  peace  to  man. 

T.  Campbell 

21  covenant,  sign  of  peace         23  gray  fathers,  Noah  and  his  family 
23  lustre,  light  29  incense,  swee  ness 

32  the  mushroom  springs  up  after  rain         33  girdle,  arch,  bow 
35  mirror'd,  reflected  42  span,  arch  43  type,  sign 


124  The  Children's  Treasury 

*77* 

TO    THE  CUCKOO. 

Hail,  beauteous  stranger  of  the  grove  ! 

Thou  messenger  of  spring  ! 
Now  Heaven  repairs  thy  rural  seat, 

And  woods  thy  welcome  sing. 

What  time  the  daisy  decks  the  green, 

Thy  certain  voice  we  hear  ; 
Hast  thou  a  star  to  guide  thy  path, 

Or  mark  the  rolling  year  ? 

Delightful  visitant,  with  thee 

I  hail  the  time  of  flowers, 
And  hear  the  sound  of  music  sweet 

From  birds  among  the  bowers. 

The  schoolboy  wandering  through  the  wood 

To  pull  the  primrose  gay, 
Starts  the  new  voice  of  spring  to  hear, 

And  imitates  thy  lay. 

What  time  the  pea  puts  on  the  bloom 

Thou  fliest  thy  vocal  vale, 
An  annual  guest  in  other  lands, 

Another  spring  to  hail. 

Sweet  bird  !  thy  bower  is  ever  green, 

Thy  sky  is  ever  clear  ; 
Thou  hast  no  sorrow  in  thy  song, 

No  winter  in  thy  year  ! 

O  could  I  fly,  I'd  fly  with  thee  ! 

We'd  make,  with  joyful  wing, 
Our  annual  visit  o'er  the  globe, 

Companions  of  the  spring. 

y.  Logan 

3  the  trees  are  in  leaf  6  certain,  sure  to  come  16  lay,  song 

18  vocal  vale,  valley  where  you  have  sung 

19  a  guest  who  comes  every  year 


oj  English  Song  125 

*?8* 

TO   THE  CUCKOO 

O  blithe  new-comer  !  I  have  heard, 

I  hear  thee  and  rejoice  : 
O  Cuckoo  !  shall  I  call  thee  bird, 

Or  but  a  wandering  Voice  ? 

While  I  am  lying  on  the  grass 

Thy  twofold  shout  I  hear  ; 
From  hill  to  hill  it  seems  to  pass, 

At  once  far  off  and  near. 

Though  babbling  only  to  the  vale 

Of  sunshine  and  of  flowers, 
Thou  bringest  unto  me  a  tale 

Of  visionary  hours. 

Thrice  welcome,  darling  of  the  Spring  ! 

Even  yet  thou  art  to  me 
No  bird,  but  an  invisible  thing  — 

A  voice,  a  mystery  ; 

The  same  whom  in  my  schoolboy  days 

I  listen'd  to  ;  that  Cry 
Which  made  me  look  a  thousand  ways 

In  bush,  and  tree,  and  sky. 

To  seek  thee  did  I  often  rove 

Through  woods  and  on  the  green  ; 

And  thou  wert  still  a  hope,  a  love  ; 
Still  long'd  for,  never  seen  ! 

And  I  can  listen  to  thee  yet ; 

Can  lie  upon  the  plain 
And  listen,  till  I  do  beget 

That  golden  time  again. 

27,  28  till,  until  I  fancy  myself  young  again 


126  The  Children's  Treasury 

O  blessed  bird  !  the  earth  we  pace 

Again  appears  to  be 
An  unsubstantial  fairy  place 

That  is  fit  home  for  Thee  ! 

W.   Wordsworth 

*79* 

TO  A    WATERFOWL 

Whither,  'midst  falling  dew, 
While  glow  the  heavens  with  the  last  steps  of  day, 
Far  through  their  rosy  depths,  dost  thou  pursue 

Thy  solitary  way? 

Vainly  the  fowler's  eye 
Might  mark  thy  distant  flight  to  do  thee  wrong, 
As,  darkly  painted  on  the  crimson  sky, 

Thy  figure  floats  along. 

Seek'st  thou  the  plashy  brink 
Of  weedy  lake,  or  marge  of  river  wide, 
Or  where  the  rocking  billows  rise  and  sink 

On  the  chafed  ocean  side  ? 

There  is  a  Power  whose  care 
Teaches  thy  way  along  that  pathless  coast, — 
The  desert  and  illimitable  air, — 

Lone  wandering,  but  not  lost. 

All  day  thy  wings  have  fann'd, 
At  that  far  height,  the  cold,  thin  atmosphere  ; 
Yet  stoop  not,  weary,  to  the  welcome  land, 

Though  the  dark  night  is  near. 

And  soon  that  toil  shall  end  ; 
Soon  shalt  thou  find  a  summer  home,  and  rest 
And  scream  among  thy  fellows  ;  reeds  shall  bend 

Soon  o'er  thy  shelter'd  nest. 

3  pursue,  follow  5  to  shoot  thee  10  marge,  edge 

15  illimitable,  without  bounds  18  atmosphere,  air 


of  English  Song  127 

Thou'rt  gone — the  abyss  of  heaven 
Hath  swallow'd  up  thy  form — yet  on  my  heart 
Deeply  hath  sunk  the  lesson  thou  hast  given, 

And  shall  not  soon  depart. 

He,  who  from  zone  to  zone 
Guides  through  the  boundless  sky  thy  certain  flight, 
In  the  long  way  that  I  must  tread  alone, 

Will  lead  my  steps  aright. 

W.  C.  Bryant 

*  80* 
SIGNS  OF  EVENING 

The  sun  upon  the  lake  is  low, 

The  wild  birds  hush  their  song  ; 
The  hills  have  evening's  deepest  glow, 

Yet  Leonard  tarries  long. 
Now  all  whom  varied  toil  and  care 

From  home  and  love  divide, 
In  the  calm  sunset  may  repair 

Each  to  the  loved  one's  side. 

The  noble  dame  on  turret  high, 

Who  waits  her  gallant  knight, 
Looks  to  the  western  beam  to  spy 

The  flash  of  armour  bright. 
The  village  maid,  with  hand  on  brow 

The  level  ray  to  shade, 
Upon  the  footpath  watches  now 

For  Colin's  darkening  plaid. 

Now  to  their  mates  the  wild  swans  row, 

By  day  they  swam  apart ; 
And  to  the  thicket  wanders  slow 

The  hind  beside  the  hart. 

25  abyss,  depths         29  zone,  region  of  the  world        31  through  life 
9  turret,  little  tower  14  level,  setting 


128  The  Children 's  Treasury 

The  woodlark  at  his  partner's  side 

Twitters  his  closing  song — 
All  meet  whom  day  and  care  divide, — 

But  Leonard  tarries  long  ! 

Sir  W.  Scott 

*8i  * 

ARETHUSA 

Arethusa  arose 

From  her  couch  of  snows 
In  the  Acroceraunian  mountains, — 

From  cloud  and  from  crag 

With  many  a  jag, 
Shepherding  her  bright  fountains. 

She  leapt  down  the  rocks 

With  her  rainbow  locks 
Streaming  among  the  streams  ; — 

Her  steps  paved  with  green 

The  downward  ravine 
Which  slopes  to  the  western  gleams  : 

And  gliding  and  springing, 

She  went,  ever  singing, 
In  murmurs  as  soft  as  sleep  ; 

The  Earth  seem'd  to  love  her, 

And  Heaven  smiled  above  her, 
As  she  lingered  towards  the  deep. 

Then  Alpheus  bold, 

On  his  glacier  cold, 
With  his  trident  the  mountains  strook  ; 

And  open'd  a  chasm 

In  the  rocks  ;  with  the  spasm 
All  Erymanthus  shook. 

3  Acroceraunian,  see  end  6  shepherding,  leading 

8  little  rainbows  appear  in  the  spray 

ii  ravine,  mountain-valley  21  trident,  fork  with  three  prongs 

22  cJiasm,  rent  23  spasm,  shock 


of  English  Song  129 

And  the  black  south  wind 

It  conceal'd  behind 
The  urns  of  the  silent  snow, 

And  earthquake  and  thunder 

Did  rend  in  sunder 
The  bars  of  the  springs  below  : 

The  beard  and  the  hair 

Of  the  river  God  were 
Seen  through  the  torrent's  sweep, 

As  he  follow' d  the  light 

Of  the  fleet  nymph's  flight 
To  the  brink  of  the  Dorian  deep. 

'  Oh,  save  me  !  Oh,  guide  me  ! 

'  And  bid  the  deep  hide  me, 
'  For  he  grasps  me  now  by  the  hair  ! ' 

The  loud  Ocean  heard, 

To  its  blue  depth  stirr'd, 
And  divided  at  her  prayer  ; 

And  under  the  water 

The  Earth's  white  daughter 
Fled  like  a  sunny  beam  ; 

Behind  her  descended 

Her  billows,  unblended 
With  the  brackish  Dorian  stream  : 

Like  a  gloomy  stain 

On  the  emerald  main 
Alphdus  rush'd  behind, — 

As  an  eagle  pursuing 

A  dove  to  its  ruin 
Down  the  streams  of  the  cloudy  wind. 

Under  the  bowers 
Where  the  Ocean  Powers 
Sit  on  their  pearled  thrones  : 

35  nymph,  girl-goddess        44  Arethusa        47  unblended,  not  mixed 
48  brackish,  saltish  50  emerald,     ear  green         56  Powers,  gods 

K 


13°  The  Children's  Treasury 

Through  the  coral  woods 

Of  the  weltering  floods, 
Over  heaps  of  unvalued  stones  ; 

Through  the  dim  beams 

Which  amid  the  streams 
Weave  a  net-work  of  coloured  light ; 

And  under  the  caves, 

Where  the  shadowy  waves 
Are  as  green  as  the  forest's  night : — 

Outspeeding  the  shark 

And  the  sword-fish  dark, 
Under  the  ocean  foam, 

And  up  through  the  rifts 

Of  the  mountain  clifts  ; 
They  pass'd  to  their  Dorian  home. 

And  now  from  their  fountains 

In  Enna's  mountains, 
Down  one  vale  where  the  morning  basks, 

Like  friends  once  parted 

Grown  single-hearted, 
They  ply  their  watery  tasks. 

At  sunrise  they  leap 

From  their  cradles  steep 
In  the  cave  of  the  shelving  hill ; 

At  noon-tide  they  flow 

Through  the  woods  below 
And  the  meadows  of  Asphodel  ; 

And  at  night  they  sleep 

In  the  rocking  deep 
Beneath  the  Ortygian  shore  ; — 

Like  spirits  that  lie 

In  the  azure  sky 
When  they  love  but  live  no  more. 

P.  B.  Shelley 

58  woods,  coral  grows  like  a  tree  beneath  the  water 

50,  weltering,  rolling  72  Dorian,  in  Sicily 

84  Asphodel,  probably  meadow-narcissus 


of  English  Song  131 

*82* 
V ALLEGRO 

HENCE,  loathed  Melancholy, 

Of  Cerberus  and  blackest  Midnight  bom 
In  Stygian  cave  forlorn 

'Mongst  horrid  shapes,  and  shrieks,  and  sights 
unholy  ! 
Find  out  some  uncouth  cell 

Where  brooding  Darkness   spreads  his  jealous 
wings 
And  the  night-raven  sings  ; 

There  under  ebon  shades,  and  low-brow'd  rocks 
As  ragged  as  thy  locks, 

In  dark  Cimmerian  desert  ever  dwell. 

But  come,  thou  Goddess  fair  and  free, 
In  heaven  yclept  Euphrosyne, 
And  by  men,  heart-easing  Mirth, 
Whom  lovely  Venus  at  a  birth 
With  two  sister  Graces  more 
To  ivy-crowned  Bacchus  bore  : 
Or  whether  (as  some  sager  sing) 
The  frolic  wind  that  breathes  the  spring 
Zephyr,  with  Aurora  playing, 
As  he  met  her  once  a-Maying — 
There  on  beds  of  violets  blue 
And  fresh-blown  roses  wash'd  in  dew 
Fill'd  her  with  thee,  a  daughter  fair, 
So  buxom,  blithe,  and  debonair. 

Haste  thee,  Nymph,  and  bring  with  thee 
Jest,  and  youthful  jollity, 
Quips,  and  cranks,  and  wanton  wiles, 

L' Allegro,  the  Cheerful  man  ;  pronounce  Alaygro 
2  Cerberus,  the  fabled  Dog  of  the  dead  3  Stygian,  gloomy 

8  ebon,  black  10  Cimmerian,  Northern,  gloomy 

12  yclept,  called  24  debonair,  handsome 

25  Nymph,  maiden  27  smart  and  odd  turnv  of  speech 

K    2 


132  The  Children's  Treasury 

Nods,  and  becks,  and  wreathed  smiles 

Such  as  hang  on  Hebe's  cheek, 

And  love  to  live  in  dimple  sleek  ; 

Sport  that  wrinkled  Care  derides, 

And  Laughter  holding  both  his  sides  : — 

Come,  and  trip  it  as  you  go 

On  the  light  fantastic  toe  ; 

And  in  thy  right  hand  lead  with  thee 

The  mountain  nymph,  sweet  Liberty  ; 

And  if  I  give  thee  honour  due 

Mirth,  admit  me  of  thy  crew, 

To  live  with  her,  and  live  with  thee 

In  unreprove'd  pleasures  free  ; 

To  hear  the  lark  begin  his  flight 

And  singing  startle  the  dull  night 

From  his  watch-tower  in  the  skies, 

Till  the  dappled  dawn  doth  rise  ; 

Then  to  come,  in  spite  of  sorrow, 

And  at  my  window  bid  good-morrow 

Through  the  sweetbriar,  or  the  vine, 

Or  t'le  twisted  eglantine  : 

While  the  cock  with  lively  din 

Scatters  the  rear  of  darkness  thin, 

And  to  the  stack,  or  the  barn-door 

Stoutly  struts  his  dames  before  : 

Oft  listening  how  the  hounds  and  horn 

Cheerly  rouse  the  slumbering  morn: 

From  the  side  of  some  hoar  hill, 

Through  the  high  wood  echoing  shrill. 

Sometime  walking,  not  unseen, 

By  hedge-row  elms,  on  hillocks  green, 

Right  against  the  eastern  gate 

Where  the  great  Sun  begins  his  state 


29  Hebe,  Youth  36  see  end        40  unreprove'd,  innocent 

45  eglantine,  dog-rose  52  dames,  hens 

54  seem  to  waken  the  day  60  state,  progress 


of  English  Song  1 33 

Robed  in  flames  and  amber  light  ; 

The  clouds  in  thousand  liveries  dight ; 

While  the  ploughman,  near  at  hand, 

Whistles  o'er  the  furrow'd  land, 

And  the  milkmaid  singeth  blithe, 

And  the  mower  whets  his  scythe, 

And  every  shepherd  tells  his  tale 

Under  the  hawthorn  in  the  dale. 

Straight  mine  eye  hath  caught  new  pleasures 

Whilst  the  landscape  round  it  measures  ; 

Russet  lawns,  and  fallows  gray, 

Where  the  nibbling  flocks  do  stray  ; 
Mountains,  on  whose  barren  breast 
The  labouring  clouds  do  often  rest ; 
Meadows  trim  with  daisies  pied, 
Shallow  brooks,  and  rivers  wide  ; 
Towers  and  battlements  it  sees 
Bosom'd  high  in  tufted  trees, 
Where  perhaps  some  Beauty  lies, 
The  Cynosure  of  neighbouring  eyes. 

Hard  by,  a  cottage  chimney  smokes 
From  betwixt  two  aged  oaks, 
Where  Corydon  and  Thyrsis,  met, 
Are  at  their  savoury  dinner  set 
Of  herbs,  and  other  country  messes 
Which  the  neat-handed  Phillis  dresses  ; 
And  then  in  haste  her  bower  she  leaves 
With  Thestylis  to  bind  the  sheaves ; 
Or,  if  the  earlier  season  lead, 
To  the  tann'd  haycock  in  the  mead. 

Sometimes  with  secure  delight 
The  upland  hamlets  will  invite, 

62  dight,  dressed  67  tells  his  tale,  counts  his  flock 

71  lawns,  open  grass  or  moorside  75  pied,  variegated 

80  Cynosure,  Pole-star,  to  which  every  one  looks  up 

83   Corydon,  &*c,  poetical  names  for  country-people 

90  tantid,  turned  brown  91  secure,  free  from  care 


134  The  Children's  Treasury 

When  the  merry  bells  ring  round, 
And  the  jocund  rebecks  sound 
To  many  a  youth  and  many  a  maid, 
Dancing  in  the  chequer'd  shade  ; 
And  young  and  old  come  forth  to  play 
On  a  sun-shine  holy-day, 
Till  the  live-long  daylight  fail  : 
Then  to  the  spicy  nut-brown  ale, 
With  stories  told  of  many  a  feat, 
How  faery  Mab  the  junkets  eat ; 
She  was  pinch'd,  and  pull'd,  she  said  ; 
And  he,  by  friar's  lantern  led  ; 
Tells  how  the  drudging  Goblin  sweat 
To  earn  his  cream-bowl  duly  set, 
When  in  one  night,  ere  glimpse  of  morn, 
His  shadowy  flail  hath  thresh'd  the  corn 
That  ten  day-labourers  could  not  end  ; 
Then  lies  him  down  the  lubber  fiend, 
And,  stretch'd  out  all  the  chimney's  length, 
Basks  at  the  fire  his  hairy  strength  ; 
And  crop-full  out  of  doors  he  flings, 
Ere  the  first  cock  his  matin  rings. 

Thus  done  the  tales,  to  bed  they  creep, 
By  whispering  winds  soon  lull'd  asleep. 

Tower'd  cities  please  us  then 
And  the  busy  hum  of  men, 
Where  throngs  of  knights  and  barons  bold, 
In  weeds  of  peace  high  triumphs  hold, 
With  store  of  ladies,  whose  bright  eyes 
Rain  influence,  and  judge  the  prize 
Of  wit  or  arms,  while  both  contend 
To  win  her  grace,  whom  all  commend. 
There  let  Hymen  oft  appear 
In  saffron  robe,  with  taper  clear, 

94  rebecks,  small  fiddles  102  junkets,  milk-dainties 

104  friar's  lantern,  Will  o' the  wisp      105  Goblin ,  Robin  Goodfellow 
no  lubber,  lubberly  120  weeds,  dress:    triumphs,  splendid  en- 

tertainments 125  Hymen,  fabled  God  of  Marriage 


of  English  Song  135 

And  pomp,  and  feast,  and  revelry, 
With  mask,  and  antique  pageantry  ; 
Such  sights  as  youthful  poets  dream 
On  summer  eves  by  haunted  stream. 
Then  to  the  well-trod  stage  anon, 
If  Jonson's  learned  sock  be  on, 
Or  sweetest  Shakspeare,  Fancy's  child, 
Warble  his  native  wood-notes  wild. 

And  ever  against  eating  cares 
Lap  me  in  soft  Lydian  airs 
Married  to  immortal  verse, 
Such  as  the  meeting  soul  may  pierce 
In  notes,  with  many  a  winding  'oout 
Of  linked  sweetness  long  drawn  out  ; 
With  wanton  heed  and  giddy  cunning, 
The  melting  voice  through  mazes  running, 
Untwisting  all  the  chains  that  tie 
The  hidden  soul  of  harmony  ; 
That  Orpheus'  self  may  heave  his  head 
From  golden  slumber,  on  a  bed 
Of  beap'd  Elysian  flowers,  and  hear 
Such  strains  as  would  have  won  the  ear 
Of  Pluto,  to  have  quite  set  free 
His  half-regain'd  Eurydice". 

These  delights  if  thou  canst  give, 
Mirth,  with  thee  I  mean  to  live. 

J.  Milton 

*8$* 

IL  PENSEROSO 

HENCE,  vain  deluding  Joys, 

The  brood  of  Folly  without  father  bred  ! 
How  little  you  bestead 

Or  fill  the  fixed  mind  with  all  your  toys  ! 

128  mask,  sort  of  play  132  sock,  Ben  Jonson's  comedies 

136  Lydian,  light  and  festive  139  bmit,  turn  or  strain 

145  Orpheus,  see  end       II  Penseroso,  the  Pensive  orThoughtful  man 
3  bestead,  avail  4  toys,  trifles 


136  The  Children's  Treasury 

Dwell  in  some  idle  brain, 

And  fancies  fond  with  gaudy  shapes  possess 
As  thick  and  numberless 

As  the  gay  motes  that  people  the  sunbeams, 
Or  likest  hovering  dreams 

The  fickle  pensioners  of  Morpheus'  train. 

But  hail,  thou  goddess  sage  and  holy, 
Hail,  divinest  Melancholy  ! 
Whose  saintly  visage  is  too  bright 
To  hit  the  sense  of  human  sight, 
And  therefore  to  our  weaker  view 
O'erlaid  with  black,  staid  Wisdom's  hue  ; 
Black,  but  such  as  in  esteem 
Prince  Memnon's  sister  might  beseem, 
Or  that  starr'd  Ethiop  queen  that  strove 
To  set  her  beauty's  praise  above 
The  sea  nymphs,  and  their  powers  offended  : 
Yet  thou  art  higher  far  descended  : 
Thee  bright-hair'd  Vesta,  long  of  yore, 
To  solitary  Saturn  bore  ; 
His  daughter  she  ;  in  Saturn's  reign 
Such  mixture  was  not  held  a  stain  : 
Oft  in  glimmering  bowers  and  glades 
He  met  her,  and  in  secret  shades 
Of  woody  Ida's  inmost  grove, 
While  yet  there  was  no  fear  of  Jove. 

Come,  pensive  nun,  devout  and  pure, 
Sober,  steadfast,  and  demure, 
All  in  a  robe  of  darkest  grain 
Flowing  with  majestic  train, 
And  sable  stole  of  cypres  lawn 
Over  thy  decent  shoulders  drawn  : 

6  fond,  foolish:  possess,  fill  9  likest,  most  like 

10  pensioners ,  followers  :  Morpheus,  sleep  14  to  be  visible 

16  staid,  sober  18  an  African  prince  19  Queen,  Cassiopeia 

31  nun,  person  retired  from  the  world  33  grain,  dyed  stuff 
35  cypres,  crape 


of  English  Song  137 

Come,  but  keep  thy  wonted  state, 

With  even  step,  and  musing  gait, 

And  looks  commercing  with  the  skies, 

Thy  rapt  soul  sitting  in  thine  eyes  : 

There,  held  in  holy  passion  still, 

Forget  thyself  to  marble,  till, 

With  a  sad  leaden  downward  cast, 

Thou  fix  them  on  the  earth  as  fast  : 

And  join  with  thee,  calm  Peace,  and  Quiet ; 

Spare  Fast,  that  oft  with  gods  doth  diet, 

And  hears  the  Muses  in  a  ring 

Aye  round  about  Jove's  altar  sing  : 

And  add  to  these  retired  Leisure, 

That  in  trim  gardens  takes  his  pleasure  : — 

But  first,  and  chiefest,  with  thee  bring 

Him  that  yon  soars  on  golden  wing, 

Guiding  the  fiery-wheele"d  throne, 

The  cherub  Contemplatidn ; 

And  the  mute  Silence  hist  along, 

'Less  Philomel  will  deign  a  song 

In  her  sweetest,  saddest  plight, 

Smoothing  the  rugged  brow  of  Night, 

While  Cynthia  checks  her  dragon  yoke 

Gently  o'er  the  accustom'd  oak. 

— Sweet  bird,  that  shunn'st  the  noise  of  folly, 

Most  musical,  most  melancholy  ! 

Thee,  chauntress,  oft,  the  woods  among 

I  woo,  to  hear  thy  even-song  ; 

And  missing  thee,  I  walk  unseen 

On  the  dry,  smooth-shaven  green, 

To  behold  the  wandering  Moon 

Riding  near  her  highest  noon, 

38  musing  gait,  thoughtful  pace  39  commercing,  holding  speech 

40  rapt,  tranced  41  passion,  ecstasy  46  see  end 

55  hist,  go  quietly  56  'less,  unless  :  Philomel,  nightingale 

57  plight,  state  58  softening  the  gloom 

59  Cynthia,  Moon  ;  Milton  fancies  her  in  a  chariot  drawn  by  two 
dragons  63  chauntress,  singer  64  moo,  walk  and  look  for 


138  The  Children's  Treasury 

Like  one  that  had  been  led  astray 
Through  the  heaven  s  wide  pathless  way 
And  oft,  as  if  her  head  she  bow'd, 
Stooping  through  a  fleecy  cloud. 

Oft,  on  a  plat  of  rising  ground 
I  hear  the  far-off  curfeu  sound 
Over  some  wide-water'd  shore, 
Swinging  slow  with  sullen  roar  : 
Or,  if  the  air  will  not  permit, 
Some  still  removed  place  will  fit, 
Where  glowing  embers  through  the  room 
Teach  light  to  counterfeit  a  gloom  ; 
Far  from  all  resort  of  mirth, 
Save  the  cricket  on  the  hearth, 
Or  the  bellman's  drowsy  charm 
To  bless  the  doors  from  nightly  harm. 

Or  let  my  lamp  at  midnight  hour 
Be  seen  in  some  high  lonely  tower, 
Where  I  may  oft  out-watch  the  Bear 
With  thrice-great  Hermes,  or  unsphere 
The  spirit  of  Plato,  to  unfold 
What  worlds  or  what  vast  regions  hold 
The  immortal  mind,  that  hath  forsook 
Her  mansion  in  this  fleshly  nook  : 
And  of  those  demons  that  are  found 
In  fire,  air,  flood,  or  under  ground, 
Whose  power  hath  a  true  consent 
With  planet,  or  with  element. 
Sometime  let  gorgeous  Tragedy 
In  scepteiJd  pall  come  sweeping  by, 
Presenting  Thebes,  or  Pelops'  line, 
Or  the  tale  of  Troy  divine  ; 

74  curfeu,  evening  bell  80  serve  to  show  the  darkness 

87  sit  up  all  night  88-9,  Hermes,  Plato,  ancient  philo- 

sophers :  unsphere,  bring  down  upon  earth  92  nook,  the  body 

95  consent,  agreement      96  with  the  stars  and  the  forces  of  Nature 
08  see  end 


of  English  Song  139 

Or  what  (though  rare)  of  later  age 
Ennobled  hath  the  buskin'd  stage. 

But,  O  sad  Virgin,  that  thy  power 
Might  raise  Musaeus  from  his  bower, 
Or  bid  the  soul  of  Orpheus  sing 
Such  notes  as,  warbled  to  the  string, 
Drew  iron  tears  down  Pluto's  cheek 
And  made  Hell  grant  what  Love  did  seek  ! 
Or  call  up  him  that  left  half-told 
The  story  of  Cambuscan  bold, 
Of  Camball,  and  of  Algarsife, 
And  who  had  Canace"  to  wife 
That  own'd  the  virtuous  ring  and  glass  ; 
And  of  the  wondrous  horse  of  brass 
On  which  the  Tartar  king  did  ride  : 
And  if  aught  else  great  bards  beside 
In  sage  and  solemn  tunes  have  sung 
Of  turneys,  and  of  trophies  hung, 
Of  forests,  and  enchantments  drear, 
Where  more  is  meant  than  meets  the  ear. 

Thus,  Night,  oft  see  me  in  thy  pale  career, 
Till  civil-suited  Morn  appear, 
Not  trick'd  and  frounced  as  she  was  wont 
With  the  Attic  Boy  to  hunt, 
But  kercheft  in  a  comely  cloud 
While  rocking  winds  are  piping  loud, 
Or  usher'd  with  a  shower  still, 
When  the  gust  hath  blown  his  fill, 
Ending  on  the  rustling  leaves 
With  minute-drops  from  off  the  eaves. 
And  when  the  sun  begins  to  fling 
His  flaring  beams,  me,  Goddess,  bring 

104  Musaeus,  a  fabled  poet  109  him,  Chaucer,  in  his  unfinished 
Squire's  Tale  118  turneys,  solemn  fights :  trophies, 

armour  and  weapons  of  defeated  enemies  121  career,  course 

122  civil-suited,  peacefully  dressed  123  frounced,  curled 

124  Boy,  Cephalus,  supposed  husband  to  the  Dawning 

125  kercheft,  hooded  127  ushered,  led  in 


140  The  Children's  Treasury 

To  arched  walks  of  twilight  groves, 

And  shadows  brown,  that  Sylvan  loves, 

Of  pine,  or  monumental  oak, 

Where  the  rude  axe,  with  heavdd  stroke, 

Was  never  heard  the  nymphs  to  daunt 

Or  fright  them  from  their  hallow'd  haunt. 

There  in  close  covert  by  some  brook 

Where  no  profaner  eye  may  look, 

Hide  me  from  day's  garish  eye, 

While  the  bee  with  honey'd  thigh 

That  at  her  flowery  work  doth  sing, 

And  the  waters  murmuring, 

With  such  concert  as  they  keep 

Entice  the  dewy-feathered  Sleep  ; 

And  let  some  strange  mysterious  dream 

Wave  at  his  wings  in  aery  stream 

Of  lively  portraiture  display'd, 

Softly  on  my  eyelids  laid  : 

And,  as  I  wake,  sweet  music  breathe 

Above,  about,  or  underneath, 

Sent  by  some  spirit  to  mortals  good, 

Or  the  unseen  Genius  of  the  wood. 

But  let  my  due  feet  never  fail 
To  walk  the  studious  cloister's  pale, 
And  love  the  high-embowe'd  roof, 
With  antique  pillars  massy  proof, 
And  storied  windows  richly  dight, 
Casting  a  dim  religious  light  : 
There  let  the  pealing  organ  blow 
To  the  full-voiced  quire  below 
In  service  high  and  anthems  clear, 
As  may  with  sweetness,  through  mine  ear, 

134  Sylvan,  fabled  God  of  the  woods  137  nymphs,  wood-fairies 

141  garish,  staring  154  Genius,  Spirit 

156  pale,  enclosure  157  Gothic  vaulting 

158  massy,  massive  159  dight,  adorned 


of  English  Song  141 

Dissolve  me  into  ecstasies, 

And  bring  all  Heaven  before  mine  eyes. 

And  may  at  last  my  weary  age 
Find  out  the  peaceful  hermitage, 
The  hairy  gown  and  mossy  cell, 
Where  I  may  sit  and  rightly  spell 
Of  every  star  that  heaven  doth  show, 
And  every  herb  that  sips  the  dew  ; 
Till  old  experience  do  attain 
To  something  like  prophetic  strain. 

These  pleasures,  Melancholy,  give, 
And  I  with  thee  will  choose  to  live. 

J.  Milton 

*  84* 

A    HAPPY  OLD  AGE 

HAPPY  were  he  could  finish  forth  his  fate 
In  some  unhaunted  desert,  where,  obscure 
From  all  society,  from  love  and  hate 
Of  worldly  folk,  there  should  he  sleep  secure  ; 

Then  wake  again,  and  yield  God  ever  praise  ; 
Content  with  hip,  with  haws,  and  brambleberry  ; 
In  contemplation  passing  still  his  days, 
And  change  of  holy  thoughts  to  make  him  merry  : 

Who,  when  he  dies,  his  tomb  might  be  the  bush 
Where  harmless  robin  resteth  with  the  thrush  : 
— Happy  were  he  ! 

Unknown 

170  spell,  study  i  he  could,  he  who  could  end  his  life 

3  unhaunted,  unpeopled  :  obscure,  hidden 

8  merry,  cheer  him  up 

€nii  of  Jirst  I  art 


SECOND    PART 

*  I  * 

THE  BATTLE  OF  AGINCOURT 

AGINCOURT,  Agincourt !  know  ye  not  Agincourt  ? 
Where  the  English  slew  and  hurt 

All  the  French  foemen. 
With  our  guns  and  bills  brown, 
O  !  the  French  were  beat  down, 
Morris-pikes  and  bowmen  ! 

T.  Heywood 


Fair  stood  the  wind  for  France 
When  we  our  sails  advance, 
Nor  now  to  prove  our  chance 

Longer  will  tarry  ; 
But  putting  to  the  main, 
At  Kaux,  the  mouth  of  Seine, 
With  all  his  martial  train, 

Landed  King  Harry. 

And  taking  many  a  fort, 
Furnish'd  in  warlike  sort, 
Marcheth  towards  Agincourt 
In  happy  hour  ; 

4  bills,  pikes  6  Morris -■pikes,  large-sized 

3  prove,  try  5  sailing  forth  7  martial,  warlike 

§/brt,  castle  10  supplied  for  war 


144  The  Children's  Treasury 

Skirmishing  day  by  day 
With  those  that  stopp'd  his  way, 
Where  the  French  general  lay 
With  all  his  power. 

Which  in  his  height  of  pride, 
King  Henry  to  deride, 
His  ransom  to  provide 

To  the  King  sending  ; 
Which  he  neglects  the  while, 
As  from  a  nation  vile, 
Yet  with  an  angry  smile, 

Their  fall  portending. 

And  turning  to  his  men, 
Quoth  our  brave  Henry  then, 
'  Though  they  to  one  be  ten, 

'  Be  not  amaze"d  ! 
'  Yet  have  well  begun, 
'  Battles  so  bravely  won 
'  Have  ever  to  the  sun 

'  By  fame  been  raised. 

'  And  for  myself,'  quoth  he, 
'  This  my  full  rest  shall  be  ; 
'  England,  ne'er  mourn  for  me, 

'  Nor  more  esteem  me  : — 
'  Victor  I  will  remain, 
'  Or  on  this  earth  lie  slain  ; 
'  Never  shall  she  sustain 

'  Loss  to  redeem  me. 

'  Poictiers  and  Cressy  tell, 
'  When  most  their  pride  did  swell, 
'  Under  our  swords  they  fell: — 
'  No  less  our  skill  is 

13  skirnvshing,  irregular  fighting  17  his,  the  French  general's 

21  ■which,  insult :  he,  Henry  24  portending,  prophesying 

26  quoth,  spoke  36  if  I  am  beaten 

37  victor,  conqueror  40  pay  ransom  for 


of  English  Song  145 

'  Than  when  our  grandsire  great, 
'  Claiming  the  regal  seat, 
'  By  many  a  warlike  feat 
'  Lopp'd  the  French  lilies.' 

The  Duke  of  York  so  dread, 
The  eager  vaward  led; 
With  the  main  Henry  sped, 

Amongst  his  henchmen. 
Exeter  had  the  rear, 
A  braver  man  not  there  ; 
Heavens  !  how  hot  they  were 

On  the  false  Frenchmen  ! 

They  now  to  fight  are  gone  : 
Armour  on  armour  shone, 
Drum  now  to  drum  did  groan  ; 

To  hear  was  wonder  ; 
That  with  the  cries  they  make 
The  very  earth  did  shake  ; 
Trumpet  to  trumpet  spake ; 

Thunder  to  thunder. 

Well  it  thine  age  became, 
O  noble  Erpingham, 
Which  did  the  signal  aim 

To  our  hid  forces  ; 
When  from  a  meadow  by, 
Like  a  storm  suddenly, 
The  English  archery 

Stuck  the  French  horses, 

With  Spanish  yew  so  strong, 
Arrows  a  cloth-yard  long, 
That  like  to  serpents  stung, 
Piercing  the  weather  ; 

47  feat,  deed         48.  see  end  50  vaward,  foremost  men 

52  henchmen,  attendants  71  archery,  bowmen 

73  yew,  used  for  bows  76  weather,  air 

L 


146  The  Children 's  Treasury 

None  from  his  fellow  starts, 
But  playing  manly  parts, 
And  like  true  English  hearts, 
Stuck  close  together. 

When  down  their  bows  they  threw, 
And  forth  their  bilbows  drew, 
And  on  the  French  they  flew  ; 

Not  one  was  tardy  ; 
Arms  were  from  shoulders  sent ; 
Scalps  to  the  teeth  were  rent, 
Down  the  French  peasants  went ; 

Our  men  were  hardy. 

This  while  our  noble  King, 
His  broad  sword  brandishing, 
Down  the  French  host  did  ding, 

As  to  o'erwhelm  it; 
And  many  a  deep-wound  lent 
His  arms  with  blood  besprent ; 
And  many  a  cruel  dent 

Bruised  his  helmet. 

Gloucester,  that  duke  so  good, 
Next  of  the  royal  blood, 
For  famous  England  stood, 

With  his  brave  brother, 
Clarence,  in  steel  so  bright, 
Though  but  a  maiden  knight, 
Yet  in  that  furious  fight 

Scarce  such  another. 

Warwick  in  blood  did  wade, 
Oxford  the  foe  invade, 
And  cruel  slaughter  made, 
Still  as  they  ran  up  ; 

83  lilbows,  swords  91  ding,  cut  down  violently 

94  besprent,  sprinkled  102  maiden,  untried 


of  English  Song  147 

Suffolk  his  axe  did  ply, 
Beaumont  and  Willoughby 
Bare  them  right  doughtily — 
Ferrers  and  Fanhope. 

Upon  Saint  Crispin's  day 
Fought  was  this  noble  fray, 
Which  fame  did  not  delay 

To  England  to  carry. 
O  when  shall  Englishmen 
With  such  acts  fill  a  pen, 
Or  England  breed  again 

Such  a  King  Harry  ! 

M.  Drayton 

*  2  * 

AFTER  BLENHEIM 

It  was  a  summer  evening  ; 

Old  Kaspar's  work  was  done, 
And  he  before  his  cottage  door 

Was  sitting  in  the  sun  ; 
And  by  him  sported  on  the  green 
His  little  grandchild  Wilhelmine. 

She  saw  her  brother  Peterkin 

Roll  something  large  and  round 
Which  he  beside  the  rivulet 

In  playing  there  had  found  ; 
He  came  to  ask  what  he  had  found 
That  was  so  large  and  smooth  and  round. 

Old  Kaspar  took  it  from  the  boy, 

Who  stood  expectant  by  ; 
And  then  the  old  man  shook  his  head, 

And  with  a  natural  sigh 
1  'Tis  some  poor  fellow's  skull,'  said  he, 
'  Who  fell  in  the  great  victory.' 

in  doughtily,  bravely  113  October  25 

115  Jinnte,  report  118  give  writers  such  a  fine  subject 

L  2 


148  The  Children's  Treasury 

'  I  find  them  in  the  garden, 
'  For  there's  many  here  about ; 

'  And  often  when  I  go  to  plough 
'  The  ploughshare  turns  them  out. 

'  For  many  thousand  men,'  said  he, 

'  Were  slain  in  that  great  victory.' 

'  Now  tell  us  what  'twas  all  about,' 

Young  Peterkin  he  cries  ; 
And  little  Wilhelmine  looks  up 

With  wonder-waiting  eyes  ; 
1  Now  tell  us  all  about  the  war, 
'  And  what  they  fought  each  other  for  ? ' 

'  It  was  the  English,'  Kaspar  cried, 
'  Who  put  the  French  to  rout  ; 

'  But  what  they  fought  each  other  for 
'  I  could  not  well  make  out. 

'  But  everybody  said,'  quoth  he, 

'  That  'twas  a  famous  victory. 

'  My  father  lived  at  Blenheim  then, 
'  Yon  little  stream  hard  by  ; 

'  They  burnt  his  dwelling  to  the  ground, 
'  And  he  was  forced  to  fly  : 

'  So  with  his  wife  and  child  he  fled, 

'  Nor  had  he  where  to  rest  his  head. 

'  With  fire  and  sword  the  country  round 

'  Was  wasted  far  and  wide, 
'  And  many  a  childing  mother  then 

'And  newborn  baby  died  : 
'  But  things  like  that,  you  know,  must  be 
'  At  every  famous  victory. 

'  They  say  it  was  a  shocking  sight 

'  After  the  field  was  won  ; 
'  For  many  thousand  bodies  here 

'  Lay  rotting  in  the  sun  : 


of  English  Song  149 

'  But  things  like  that,  you  know,  must  be 
'  After  a  famous  victory. 

'  Great  praise  the  Duke  of  Marlbro'  won 

'  And  our  good  Prince  Eugene  ; ' 
— '  Why  'twas  a  very  wicked  thing  ! ' 

Said  little  Wilhelmine  ; 
'  Nay  .  .  nay  .  .  my  little  girl,'  quoth  he, 
'  It  was  a  famous  victory  ! 

'  And  everybody  praised  the  Duke 

'  Who  this  great  fight  did  win.' 
— '  But  what  good  came  of  it  at  last  ?' 

Quoth  little  Peterkin  :— 
'Why  that  I  cannot  tell,'  said  he, 
'  But  'twas  a  famous  victory.' 


R.  Southey 


*  3  * 
LUCY  GRAY 

Oft  I  had  heard  of  Lucy  Gray  : 
And,  when  I  cross'd  the  wild, 

I  chanced  to  see  at  break  of  day 
The  solitary  child. 

No  mate,  no  comrade  Lucy  knew ; 

She  dwelt  on  a  wide  moor, 
— The  sweetest  thing  that  ever  grew 

Beside  a  human  door  ! 

You  yet  may  spy  the  fawn  at  play, 
The  hare  upon  the  green  ; 

But  the  sweet  face  of  Lucy  Gray 
Will  never  more  be  seen. 

'  To-night  will  be  a  stormy  night — 
'  You  to  the  town  must  go  ; 

4  And  take  a  lantern,  Child,  to  light 
'  Your  mother  through  the  snow.' 


150  The  Children's  Treasury 

1  That,  Father,  will  I  gladly  do  : 

'  'Tis  scarcely  afternoon — 
1  The  minster-clock  has  just  struck  two, 

'  And  yonder  is  the  moon  ! ' 

At  this  the  father  raised  his  hook, 
And  snapp'd  a  faggot  band  ; 

He  plied  his  work  ; — and  Lucy  took 
The  lantern  in  her  hand. 

Not  blither  is  the  mountain  roe  : 

With  many  a  wanton  stroke 
Her  feet  disperse  the  powdery  snow, 

That  rises  up  like  smoke. 

The  storm  came  on  before  its  time  : 

She  wander'd  up  and  down  ; 
And  many  a  hill  did  Lucy  climb  : 

But  never  reach'd  the  town. 

The  wretched  parents  all  that  night 
Went  shouting  far  and  wide  ; 

But  there  was  neither  sound  nor  sight 
To  serve  them  for  a  guide. 

At  daybreak  on  a  hill  they  stood 

That  overlook'd  the  moor  ; 
And  thence  they  saw  the  bridge  of  wood, 

A  furlong  from  their  door. 

They  wept — and,  turning  homeward,  cried, 
'  In  heaven  we  all  shall  meet  ! ' 

— When  in  the  snow  the  mother  spied 
The  print  of  Lucy's  feet. 

Then  downwards  from  the  steep  hill's  edge 
They  track'd  the  footmarks  small ; 

And  through  the  broken  hawthorn  hedge, 
And  by  the  long  stone-wall : 


of  English  Song  1 5 1 

And  then  an  open  field  they  cross'd  : 

The  marks  were  still  the  same  ; 
They  track'd  them  on,  nor  ever  lost  ; 

And  to  the  bridge  they  came. 

They  folio u^d  from  the  snowy  bank 

Those  footmarks,  one  by  one, 
Into  the  middle  of  the  plank  ; 

And  further  there  were  none  ! 

— Yet  some  maintain  that  to  this  day 

She  is  a  living  child  ; 
That  you  may  see  sweet  Lucy  Gray 

Upon  the  lonesome  wild. 

O'er  rough  and  smooth  she  trips  along, 

And  never  looks  behind  ; 
And  sings  a  solitary  song 

That  whistles  in  the  wind. 

W.  Wordsworth 

*  4  * 

NURSE'S  SONG 

When  the  voices  of  children  are  heard  on  the  green, 

And  laughing  is  heard  on  the  hill, 
My  heart  is  at  rest  within  my  breast, 

And  everything  else  is  still. 
Then  come  home,  my  children,  the  sun  is  gone 
down, 

And  the  dews  of  night  arise  ; 
Come,  come,  leave  off  play,  and  let  us  away 

Till  the  morning  appears  in  the  skies. 

'  No,  no,  let  us  play,  for  it  is  yet  day, 

'  And  we  cannot  go  to  sleep  ; 
'  Besides  in  the  sky  the  little  birds  fly, 

'  And  the  hills  are  all  cover'd  with  sheep.' 


152  The  Children's  Treasury 

— Well,  well,  go  and  play  till  the  light  fades  away, 

And  then  go  home  to  bed. 

The  little  ones  leap'd,  and  shouted,  and  laugh'd  ; 

And  all  the  hills  echoed. 

W.  Blake 

*5  * 

INFANT  JOY, 

OR,  THE  BABY 

1 1  HAVE  no  name; 
'  I  am  but  two  days  old.' 
—'What  shall  I  call  thee?' 

— '  I  happy  am  ; 

'  Joy  is  my  name.' 
— Sweet  joy  befall  thee  ! 

Pretty  joy  ! 
Sweet  joy,  but  two  days  old. 
Sweet  joy  I  call  thee  : 

Thou  dost  smile  : 

I  sing  the  while, 
Sweet  joy  befall  thee  ! 

W.  Blake 


THE  BLIND  LASSIE 

0  HARK  to  the  strain  that  sae  sweetly  is  ringin', 

And  echoing  clearly  o'er  lake  and  o'er  lea, 
Like  some  fairy  bird  in  the  wilderness  singin' ; 

It  thrills  to  my  heart,  yet  nae  minstrel  I  see. 
Round  yonder  rock  knittin',  a  dear  child  is  sittin', 

Sae  toilin'  her  pitifu'  pittance  is  won, 
Hersel'  tho'  we  see  nae,  'tis  mitherless  Jeanie, — 

The  bonnie  blind  lassie  that  sits  i'  the  sun. 

1  strain,  music  4  -minstrel,  singer 

6  pitif if  pittance,  small  livelihood  7  mither,  mother 


of  English  Song  153 

Five  years  syne  come  autumn  she  cam'   wi'  her 
mither, 
A  sodger's  puir  widow,  sair  wasted  an'  gane  ; 
As   brown   fell  the  leaves,  sae  wi'  them  did  she 
wither, 
And  left  the  sweet  child  on  the  wide  world  her 
lane. 
She  left  Jeanie  weepin',  in  His  holy  keepin' 

Wha  shelters  the  lamb  frae  the  cauld  wintry  win' ; 
We  had  little  siller,  yet  a'  were  good  till  her, 
The  bonnie  blind  lassie  that  sits  i'  the  sun. 

An'  blythe  now  an'  cheerfu',  frae  mornin'  to  e'enin 
She  sits  thro'  the  simmer,  an'  gladdens  ilk  ear, 
Baith  auld  and  young  daut  her,  sae  gentle  and 
winnin' ; 
To  a'  the  folks  round  the  wee  lassie  is  dear. 
Braw  leddies  caress  her,  wi'  bounties  would  press 
her  ; 
The  modest  bit  darlin'  their  notice  would  shun  ; 
For  though  she  has  naething,  proud-hearted  this 
wee  thing, 
The  bonnie  blind  lassie  that  sits  i'  the  sun. 

T.  C.  Latto 

*  7  * 

NIGHT 

The  sun  descending  in  the  west, 

The  evening  star  does  shine  ; 
The  birds  are  silent  in  their  nest, 
And  I  must  seek  for  mine. 
The  moon,  like  a  flower 
In  heaven's  high  bower, 
With  silent  delight 
Sits  and  smiles  on  the  night. 

9  syne,  since  10  sair,  sorely  12  her  lane,  alone 

15  siller,  money  :  till,  to  18  simmer,  summer :  ilk,  every 

19  daut,  dote  on  20  a',  all  21  braw  leddies,  fine  ladies 

22  bit,  little 


154  The  Children's  Treasury 

Farewell,  green  fields  and  happy  groves, 

Where  flocks  have  ta'en  delight ; 
Where  lambs  have  nibbled,  silent  moves 
The  feet  of  angels  bright  ; 
Unseen,  they  pour  blessing, 
And  joy  without  ceasing, 
On  each  bud  and  blossom, 
And  each  sleeping  bosom. 

They  look  in  every  thoughtless  nest, 

Where  birds  are  cover'd  warm, 
They  visit  caves  of  every  beast, 
To  keep  them  all  from  harm  : — 
If  they  see  any  weeping 
That  should  have  been  sleeping, 
They  pour  sleep  on  their  head, 
And  sit  down  by  their  bed. 

W.  Blake 
*8* 
SIMON  LEE   THE  OLD  HUNTSMAN 

In  the  sweet  shire  of  Cardigan, 
Not  far  from  pleasant  Ivor  Hall, 
An  old  man  dwells,  a  little  man, 
I've  heard  he  once  was  tall. 
Full  five-and-thirty  years  he  lived 
A  running  huntsman  merry  ; 
And  still  the  centre  of  his  cheek 
Is  red  as  a  ripe  cherry. 

No  man  like  him  the  horn  could  sound, 

And  hill  and  valley  rang  with  glee, 

When  Echo  bandied  round  and  round 

The  halloo  of  Simon  Lee. 

In  those  proud  days  he  little  cared 

For  husbandry  or  tillage  ; 

To  blither  tasks  did  Simon  rouse 

The  sleepers  of  the  village. 

ii  bandied,  sent 


of  English  Song  155 

He  all  the  country  could  outrun, 

Could  leave  both  man  and  horse  behind  ; 

And  often,  ere  the  chase  was  done, 

He  reel'd  and  was  stone-blind. 

And  still  there's  something  in  the  world 

At  which  his  heart  rejoices  ; 

For  when  the  chiming  hounds  are  out, 

He  dearly  loves  their  voices. 

But  O  the  heavy  change  ! — bereft 

Of  health,  strength,  friends  and  kindred,  see 

Old  Simon  to  the  world  is  left 

In  liveried  poverty : 

His  master's  dead,  and  no  one  now 

Dwells  in  the  Hall  of  Ivor  ; 

Men,  dogs,  and  horses,  all  are  dead  ; 

He  is  the  sole  survivor. 

And  he  is  lean  and  he  is  sick  : 

His  body,  dwindled  and  awry, 

Rests  upon  ankles  swoln  and  thick; 

His  legs  are  thin  and  dry. 

He  has  no  son,  he  has  no  child ; 

His  wife,  an  age"d  woman, 

Lives  with  him,  near  the  waterfall, 

Upon  the  village  common. 

Beside  their  moss-grown  hut  of  clay, 
Not  twenty  paces  from  the  door, 
A  scrap  of  land  they  have,  but  they 
Are  poorest  of  the  poor. 
This  scrap  of  land  he  from  the  heath 
Enclosed  when  he  was  stronger ; 
But  what  avails  the  land  to  them 
Which  he  can  till  no  longer  ? 


»5  bereft,  cut  off  from  28  in  a  huntsman's  dress 

32  only  one  left  alive  47  what  use  is 


156  The  Children's  Treasury 

Oft,  working  by  her  husband's  side, 

Ruth  does  what  Simon  cannot  do  ; 

For  she,  with  scanty  cause  for  pride, 

Is  stouter  of  the  two. 

And,  though  you  with  your  utmost  skill 

From  labour  could  not  wean  them, 

Tis  little,  very  little,  all 

That  they  can  do  between  them. 

Few  months  of  life  has  he  in  store, 

As  he  to  you  will  tell, 

For  still,  the  more  he  works,  the  more 

Do  his  weak  ankles  swell. 

— My  gentle  reader,  I  perceive 

How  patiently  you've  waited, 

And  now  I  fear  that  you  expect 

Some  tale  will  be  related. 

O  reader  !  had  you  in  your  mind 

Such  stores  as  silent  thought  can  biing. 

O  gentle  reader  !  you  would  find 

A  tale  in  everything. 

What  more  I  have  to  say  is  short, 

And  you  must  kindly  take  it  : 

It  is  no  tale  ;  but,  should  you  think, 

Perhaps  a  tale  you'll  make  it. — 

One  summer-day  I  chanced  to  see 
This  old  man  doing  all  he  could 
To  unearth  the  root  of  an  old  tree, 
A  stump  of  rotten  wood. 
The  mattock  totter"  d  in  his  hand  ; 
So  vain  was  his  endeavour 
That  at  the  root  of  the  old  tree 
He  might  have  work'd  for  ever. 

64  related,  told 


of  English  Song  157 

'You're  overtasked,  good  Simon  Lee, 

'  Give  me  your  tool,'  to  him  I  said  ; 

And  at  the  word  right  gladly  he 

Received  my  proffer'd  aid. 

I  struck,  and  with  a  single  blow 

The  tangled  root  I  sever'd, 

At  which  the  poor  old  man  so  long 

And  vainly  had  endeavour'd. 

The  tears  into  his  eyes  were  brought, 
And  thanks  and  praises  seem'd  to  run 
So  fast  out  of  his  heart,  I  thought 
They  never  would  have  done. 
— I've  heard  of  hearts  unkind,  kind  deeds 
With  coldness  still  returning  ; 
Alas  !  the  gratitude  of  men 
Has  oftener  left  me  mourning. 

W.   Wordsworth 

*  9  * 

LULLABY  FOR    TITANIA 
First  Fairy 

You  spotted  snakes  with  double  tongue, 

Thorny  hedgehogs,  be  not  seen  ; 
Newts,  and  blind- worms,  do  no  wrong; 

Come  not  near  our  Fairy  Queen. 

Cho?-us 

Philomel  with  melody 

Sing  in  our  sweet  lullaby ; 
Lulla,  lulla,  lullaby  ;  lulla,  lulla,  lullaby 
Never  harm,  nor  spell,  nor  charm, 

Come  our  lovely  lady  nigh  ! 

So  good-night,  with  lullaby. 

84  proffer'd,  offered 
4  Queen,  Titania  5  Philomel,  nightingale 


158  The  Children's  Treasury 

Second  Fairy 

Weaving  spiders,  come  not  here  ; 

Hence,  you  long-leggM  spinners,  hence  ; 
Beetles  black,  approach  not  near ; 

Worm,  nor  snail,  do  no  offence. 

Chorus 

Philomel  with  melody 

Sing  in  our  sweet  lullaby  ; 
Lulla,  lulla,  lullaby  ;  lulla,  lulla,  lullaby  ! 
Never  harm,  nor  spell,  nor  charm, 

Come  our  lovely  lady  nigh  ! 

So  good-night,  with  lullaby. 

W.  Shakespeare 

*  10* 
ROBIN  GOODFELLOW 

FROM  Oberon,  in  fairy  land, 

The  king  of  ghosts  and  shadows  there, 

Mad  Robin  I,  at  his  command, 

Am  sent  to  view  the  night-sports  here. 

What  revel  rout 

Is  kept  about, 
In  every  corner  where  I  go, 

I  will  o'ersee, 

And  merry  be, 
And  make  good  sport,  with  ho,  ho,  ho  ! 

More  swift  than  lightning  can  I  fly 
About  this  airy  welkin  soon, 
And,  in  a  minute's  space,  descry 
Each  thing  that's  done  below  the  moon. 

5,  6  whatever  sport  goes  on  12  welkin,  sky 

13  descry,  see 


of  English  Song  159 

There's  not  a  hag 

Or  ghost  shall  wag, 
Or  cry  'ware  goblins  !  where  I  go  ; 

But,  Robin,  I 

Their  feats  will  spy, 
And  send  them  home  with  ho,  ho,  ho  ! 

Whene'er  such  wanderers  I  meet, 

As  from  their  night-sports  they  trudge  home, 

With  counterfeiting  voice  I  greet, 

And  call  them  on  with  me  to  roam  ; 

Through  woods,  through  lakes, 

Through  bogs,  through  brakes, 
Or  else,  unseen,  with  them  I  go, 

All  in  the  nick 

To  play  some  trick, 
And  frolic  it,  with  ho,  ho,  ho  ! 

Sometimes  I  meet  them  like  a  man, 
Sometimes  an  ox,  sometimes  a  hound  ; 
And  to  a  horse  I  turn  me  can, 
To  trip  and  trot  about  them  round. 

But  if  to  ride, 

My  back  they  stride, 
More  swift  than  wind  away  I  go, 

O'er  hedge  and  lands, 

Through  pools  and  ponds, 
I  hurry,  laughing,  ho,  ho,  ho  ! 

By  wells  and  rills,  in  meadows  green, 
We  nightly  dance  our  heyday  guise  ; 
And  to  our  fairy  King  and  Queen, 
We  chant  our  moonlight  minstrelsies. 

t6  wag,  stir  17  'ware,  beware  of  19  feats,  doings 

23  counterfeiting,  mimicking        28  in  the  nick,  at  the  right  moment 

42  heyday  guise,  frolicsome  game  44  minstrelsies,  songs 


160  The  Children's  Treasury 

When  larks  'gin  sing, 

Away  we  fling  ; 
And  babes  new  born  steal  as  we  go  ; 

And  elf  in  bed, 

We  leave  instead, 
And  wend  us  laughing,  ho,  ho,  ho  ! 

From  hag-bred  Merlin's  time  have  I 
Thus  nightly  revell'd  to  and  fro  ; 
And  for  my  pranks  men  call  me  by 
The  name  of  Robin  Good-fellow. 

Fiends,  ghosts,  and  sprites, 
Who  haunt  the  nights, 
The  hags  and  goblins  do  me  know  ; 
And  beldames  old 
My  feats  have  told, 
So  vale,  vale  /  ho,  ho,  ho  ! 

Unknown 

*  II  * 
THE  FAIR  V  PRINCE 

It  was  intill  a  pleasant  time, 

Upon  a  summer's  day, 
The  noble  Earl  Mar's  daughter 

Went  forth  to  sport  and  play. 

And  as  she  play'd  and  sported 

Below  a  green  oak  tree, 
There  she  saw  a  sprightly  doo 

Set  on  a  branch  so  hie. 

'  O  Coo-my-doo,  my  Love  so  true, 

'  If  ye'll  come  down  to  me, 
'  Ye'll  have  a  cage  of  good  red  gold 

'  Instead  of  simple  tree.' 

50  wend,  go  51  hag-bred,  witch-born  :  Merlin,  a  magician 

(-0  vale,  farewell         1  intill,  in         7  dio,  dove         8  hie,  high 

12  tree,  wood 


of  English  Song  161 

And  she  had  not  these  words  well  spoke, 

Nor  yet  these  words  well  said, 
Till  Coo-my-doo  flew  from  the  branch, 

And  lighted  on  her  head. 

Then  she  has  brought  this  pretty  bird 

Home  to  her  bower  and  hall, 
And  made  him  shine  as  fair  a  bird 

As  any  of  them  all. 

When  day  was  gone  and  night  was  come, 

About  the  evening-tide, 
This  lady  spied  a  sprightly  youth 

Stand  straight  up  by  her  side. 

'  O  who  are  ye,  young  man  ? '  she  said, 

'What  country  come  ye  frae V 
—'  I  flew  across  the  sea/  he  said, 

'  'Twas  but  this  very  day. 

'  My  mother  is  a  queen,'  he  says, 

'  Likewise  of  magic  skill ; 
'  'Twas  she  that  turn'd  me  in  a  doo, 

'  To  fly  where'er  I  will. 

'  And  it  was  but  this  very  day 

'  That  I  came  o'er  the  sea  : 
e  I  loved  you  at  a  single  look  ; 

'  With  you  I'll  live  and  dee.' 

— '  O  Coo-my-doo,  my  Love  so  true, 

'  No  more  from  me  ye'U  gae.' 
— '  That's  never  my  intent,  my  Love  ; 

'  As  ye  said,  it  shall  be  sae.' 

Thus  he  has  stay'd  in  bower  with  her 

For  twenty  years  and  three  ; 
Till  there  came  a  lord  of  high  renown 

To  court  this  fair  ladye. 

31  in,  to  38  gae,  go 

M 


1 62  The  Children's  Treasury 

But  still  his  proffer  she  refused, 

And  all  his  presents  too  ; 
Says,  '  I'm  content  to  live  alone 

'  With  my  bird  Coo-my-doo.' 

Her  father  sware  a  solemn  oath, 

Among  the  nobles  all, 
'  To-morrow,  ere  I  eat  or  drink, 

'  That  bird  I'll  surely  kill.' 

The  bird  was  sitting  in  his  cage, 
And  heard  what  he  did  say  ; 

He  jump'd  upon  the  window-sill  : 
'  'Tis  time  I  was  away.' 

Then  Coo-my-doo  took  flight  and  flew 

Beyond  the  raging  sea, 
And  lighted  at  his  mother's  castle, 

On  a  tower  of  gold  so  hie. 

The  Queen  his  mother  was  walking  out, 

To  see  what  she  could  see, 
And  there  she  saw  her  darling  son 

Set  on  the  tower  so  hie. 

'  Get  dancers  here  to  dance,'  she  said, 
'  And  minstrels  for  to  play  ; 

'  For  here's  my  dear  son  Florentine 
'  Come  back  with  me  to  stay.' 

— '  Instead  of  dancers  to  dance,  mother, 

'  Or  minstrels  for  to  play, 
'  Turn  four-and-twenty  well-wight  men 

'  Like  storks,  in  feathers  gray ; 

'  My  seven  sons  in  seven  swans, 
'  Above  their  heads  to  flee  ; 

'  And  I  myself  a  gay  goshawk, 
'  A  bird  of  high  degree.' 

45  Pr°ffer,  offer  71  well-wight,  stalwart 

75  goshawk,  large  hawk 


of  English  Song  163 

This  flock  of  birds  took  flight  and  flew 

Beyond  the  raging  sea  ; 
They  landed  near  the  Earl  Mar's  castle, 

Took  shelter  in  every  tree. 

These  birds  flew  up  from  bush  and  tree, 

And  lighted  on  the  hall ; 
And  when  the  wedding-train  came  forth 

Flew  down  among  them  all. 

The  storks  they  seized  the  boldest  men, 
That  they  could  not  fight  or  flee ; 

The  swans  they  bound  the  bridegroom  fast 
Unto  a  green  oak  tree. 

They  flew  around  the  bride-maidens, 
Then  on  the  bride's  own  head ; 

And  with  the  twinkling  of  an  eye, 
The  bride  and  they  were  fled  ! 

Unknown 

*  12  * 

THE  ANCIENT  MARINER 
PART  I 

It  is  an  ancient  Mariner, 

And  he  stoppeth  one  of  three. 

— '  By  thy  long  gray  beard  and  glittering  eye, 

'  Now  wherefore  stopp'st  thou  me  ? 

1  The  Bridegroom's  doors  are  open'd  wide, 
'  And  I  am  next  of  kin  ; 
'  The  guests  are  met,  the  feast  is  set : 
'  May'st  hear  the  merry  din  ! ' 

He  holds  him  with  his  skinny  hand, 

'  There  was  a  ship,'  quoth  he. 

— '  Hold  off!  unhand  me,  gray -beard  loon  !' 

Eftsoons  his  hand  dropt  he. 

12  eftsoons,  at  once 

M   2 


1 64  The  Children's  Treasury 

He  holds  him  with  his  glittering  eye  : — 
The  wedding-guest  stood  still, 
And  listens  like  a  three  years'  child  : 
The  Mariner  hath  his  will. 

The  Wedding-Guest  sat  on  a  stone  : 
He  cannot  choose  but  hear  ; 
And  thus  spake  on  that  ancient  man, 
The  bright-eyed  Mariner  : — 

'  The  ship  was  cheered,  the  harbour  clear'd  ; 

'  Merrily  did  we  drop 

'  Below  the  kirk,  below  the  hill, 

'  Below  the  light -house  top. 

'  The  sun  came  up  upon  the  left, 

'  Out  of  the  sea  came  he  ! 

'  And  he  shone  bright,  and  on  the  right 

'  Went  down  into  the  sea. 

'  Higher  and  higher  every  day, 

' Till  over  the  mast  at  noon' — 

The  Wedding-Guest  here  beat  his  breast, 

For  he  heard  the  loud  bassoon. 

The  bride  hath  paced  into  the  hall, 
Red  as  rose  is  she  ; 
Nodding  their  heads  before  her  goes 
The  merry  minstrelsy. 

The  Wedding- Guest  he  beat  his  breast, 
Yet  he  cannot  choose  but  hear  ; 
And  thus  spake  on  that  ancient  man, 
The  bright-eyed  Mariner  : — 

'  And  now  the  storm-blast  came,  and  he 
Was  tyrannous  and  strong  : 

He  struck  with  his  o'ertaking  wings, 

And  chased  us  South  along. 

23  kirk,  church  25  left.  East,  as  they  were  going  South 

32  bassoon,  wind-instrument  36  minstrelsy,  musician! 


of  English  Song  165 

With  sloping  masts  and  dipping  prow, 
As  who  pursued  with  yell  and  blow 
Still  treads  the  shadow  of  his  foe, 
And  forward  bends  his  head, 
The  ship  drove  fast,  loud  roar'd  the  blast, 
And  southward  aye  we  fled. 

And  now  there  came  both  mist  and  snow, 
And  it  grew  wondrous  cold  : 
And  ice,  mast-high,  came  floating  by, 
As  green  as  emerald. 

And  through  the  drifts  the  snowy  clifts 
Did  send  a  dismal  sheen  : 
Nor  shapes  of  men  nor  beasts  we  ken — 
The  ice  was  all  between. 

The  ice  was  here,  the  ice  was  there. 

The  ice  was  all  around  : 

It  crack'd  and  growl'd,  and  roar'd  and  howl'd, 

Like  noises  in  a  swound  ! 

At  length  did  cross  an  Albatross, 
Thorough  the  fog  it  came  ; 
As  if  it  had  been  a  Christian  soul, 
We  hail'd  it  in  God's  name. 

It  ate  the  food  it  ne'er  had  ate, 
And  round  and  round  it  flew  : — 
The  ice  did  split  with  a  thunder-fit  ; 
The  helmsman  steer'd  us  through  ! 

And  a  good  south  wind  sprung  up  behind  ; 

The  Albatross  did  follow, 

And  every  day,  for  food  or  play, 

Came  to  the  mariners'  hollo  ! 

S3  glaciers  56  sheen,  shining  57  ken,  see 

62  swound,  swoon  63  Albatross,  great  sea-bird 


1 66  The  Children's  Treasury 

In  mist  or  cloud,  on  mast  or  shroud, 

It  perch'd  for  vespers  nine  ; 

Whiles  all  the  night,  through  fog-smoke  white, 

Glimmer'd  the  white  moon-shine. 

'  God  save  thee,  ancient  Mariner  ! 
'  From  the  fiends,  that  plague  thee  thus  ! — 
'  Why  look'st  thou  so  ?' — 'With  my  cross-bow 
I  shot  the  Albatross.' 


PART   II 

'  The  sun  now  rose  upon  the  right : 
Out  of  the  sea  came  he 
Still  hid  in  mist, — and  on  the  left 
Went  down  into  the  sea. 

And  the  good  south  wind  still  blew  behind, 
But  no  sweet  bird  did  follow, 
Nor  any  day  for  food  or  play 
Came  to  the  mariners'  hollo  ! 

And  I  had  done  a  hellish  thing, 

And  it  would  work  'em  woe  : 

For  all  averr'd,  I  had  kill'd  the  bird 

That  made  the  breeze  to  blow. 

Ah  wretch  !  said  they,  the  bird  to  slay, 

That  made  the  breeze  to  blow  ! 

Nor  dim  nor  red,  like  God's  own  head, 
The  glorious  Sun  uprist  : 
Then  all  averr'd,  I  had  kill'd  the  bird 
That  brought  the  fog  and  mist  :— 
'Twas  right,  said  they,  such  birds  to  slay, 
That  bring  the  fog  and  mist. 

75  shroud,  rigging  76  vespers,  evenings 

93  averr'd,  declared 


of  English  Song  167 

The  fair  breeze  blew,  the  white  foam  flew, 

The  furrow  follow'd  free  ; 

We  were  the  first  that  ever  burst 

Into  that  silent  sea. 

Down  dropt  the  breeze,  the  sails  dropt  down, 
'Twas  sad  as  sad  could  be  ; 
And  we  did  speak  only  to  break 
The  silence  of  the  sea  ! 

All  in  a  hot  and  copper  sky, 
The  bloody  Sun,  at  noon, 
Right  up  above  the  mast  did  stand, 
No  bigger  than  the  Moon. 

Day  after  day,  day  after  day, 
We  stuck,  nor  breath  nor  motion  ; 
As  idle  as  a  painted  ship 
Upon  a  painted  ocean. 

Water,  water,  everywhere, 
And  all  the  boards  did  shrink  ; 
Water,  water,  everywhere, 
Nor  any  drop  to  drink. 

The  very  deep  did  rot  :  O  Heaven  ! 
That  ever  this  should  be  ! 
Yea,  slimy  things  did  crawl  with  legs 
Upon  the  slimy  sea. 

About,  about,  in  reel  and  rout 
The  death-fires  danced  at  night ; 
The  water,  like  a  witch's  oils, 
Burnt  green,  and  blue,  and  white. 

And  some  in  dreams  assured  were 
Of  the  spirit  that  plagued  us  so  ; 
Nine  fathom  deep  he  had  follow'd  us 
From  the  land  of  mist  and  snow. 


1 68  The  Children's  Treasury 

And  every  tongue,  through  utter  drought, 
Was  wither'd  at  the  root  ; 
We  could  not  speak,  no  more  than  if 
We  had  been  choked  with  soot. 

Ah  !  well  a-day  !  what  evil  looks 
Had  I  from  old  and  young  ! 
Instead  of  the  cross,  the  Albatross 
About  my  neck  was  hung. 

PART  III 

'  There  pass'd  a  weary  time.     Each  throat 

Was  parch'd,  and  glazed  each  eye. 

A  weary  time  !  a  weary  time  .' 

How  glazed  each  weary  eye  ! 

When  looking  westward,  I  beheld 

A  something  in  the  sky. 

At  first  it  seem'd  a  little  speck, 

And  then  it  seem'd  a  mist  ; 

It  moved  and  moved,  and  took  at  last 

A  certain  shape,  I  wist. 

A  speck,  a  mist,  a  shape,  I  wist ! 

And  still  it  near'd  and  near'd  : 

As  if  it  dodged  a  water-sprite, 

It  plunged  and  tack'd  and  veer'd. 

With  throats  unslaked,  with  black  lips  baked, 

We  could  nor  laugh  nor  wail  ; 

Through  utter  drought  all  dumb  we  stood  ! 

I  bit  my  arm,  I  suck'd  the  blood, 

And  cried,  A  sail — a  sail  ! 

With  throats  unslaked,  with  black  lips  baked, 
Agape  they  heard  me  call  : 
Gramercy  !  they  for  joy  did  grin, 
And  all  at  once  their  breath  drew  in, 
As  they  were  drinking  all. 

152  wist,  perceived 


of  English  Song  169 

See  !  see  !  (I  cried)  she  tacks  no  more  ! 
Hither  to  work  us  weal ; 
Without  a  breeze,  without  a  tide, 
She  steadies  with  upright  keel  ! 

The  western  wave  was  all  a-flame, 

The  day  was  wellnigh  done  ! 

Almost  upon  the  western  wave 

Rested  the  broad  bright  Sun  ; 

When  that  strange  shape  drove  suddenly 

Betwixt  us  and  the  Sun. 

And  straight  the  Sun  was  fleck'd  with  bars, 
(Heaven's  Mother  send  us  grace  !) 
As  if  through  a  dungeon-grate  he  peer'd 
With  broad  and  burning  face. 

Alas  !  (thought  I,  and  my  heart  beat  loud) 
How  fast  she  nears  and  nears  ! 
Are  those  her  sails  that  glance  in  the  Sun, 
Like  restless  gossameres  ? 

Are  those  her  ribs  through  which  the  Sun 

Did  peer,  as  through  a  grate  ? 

And  is  that  woman  all  her  crew? 

Is  that  a  Death  ?  and  are  there  two  ? 

Is  Death  that  woman's  mate  ? 

Her  lips  were  red,  her  looks  were  free, 
Her  locks  were  yellow  as  gold  : 
Her  skin  was  as  white  as  leprosy, 
The  Night-mare  Life-in- Death  was  she, 
Who  thicks  man's  blood  with  cold. 

The  naked  hulk  alongside  came, 

And  the  twain  were  casting  dice  ; 

'  The  game  is  done !     I've  .  .  .  I've  won  ! ' 

Quoth  she,  and  whistles  thrice. 

168  do  us  good  195  hulk,  body  of  the  ship 


170  The  Children's  Treasury 

The  Sun's  rim  dips  ;  the  stars  rush  out  : 
At  one  stride  comes  the  dark  ; 
With  far-heard  whisper,  o'er  the  sea, 
Off  shot  the  spectre-bark. 

We  listen'd  and  look'd  sideways  up  ! 

Fear  at  my  heart,  as  at  a  cup, 

My  life-blood  seem'd  to  sip  ! 

The  stars  were  dim,  and  thick  the  night ; 

The  steersman's  face  by  his  lamp  gleam'd  white ; 

From  the  sails  the  dew  did  drip — 

Till  clomb  above  the  eastern  bar 

The  horne'd  Moon,  with  one  bright  star 

Within  the  nether  tip. 

One  after  one,  by  the  star- dogged  Moon, 
Too  quick  for  groan  or  sigh, 
Each  turn'd  his  face  with  a  ghastly  pang, 
And  cursed  me  with  his  eye. 

Four  times  fifty  living  men, 
(And  I  heard  nor  sigh  nor  groan,) 
With  heavy  thump,  a  lifeless  lump, 
They  dropt  down  one  by  one. 

The  souls  did  from  their  bodies  fly, — 
They  fled  to  bliss  or  woe  ! 
And  every  soul,  it  pass'd  me  by 
Like  the  whizz  of  my  cross-bow.' 

PART  IV. 

'  I  fear  thee,  ancient  Mariner  ! 

'  I  fear  thy  skinny  hand  ! 

'  And  thou  art  long,  and  lank,  and  brown, 

'  As  is  the  ribb'd  sea-sand. 

200  Near  the  Equator  there  is  hardly  any  twilight 
«I2  dogg'd,  followed  closely  by 


of  English  Song  1 7 1 

'  I  fear  thee  and  thy  glittering  eye, 

'  And  thy  skinny  hand,  so  brown.' 

— 'Fear  not,  fear  not,  thou  Wedding-Guest ! 

This  body  dropt  not  down. 

Alone,  alone  ;  all,  all  alone, 
Alone  on  a  wide,  wide  sea  ! 
And  never  a  saint  took  pity  on 
My  soul  in  agony. 

The  many  men,  so  beautiful ! 

And  they  all  dead  did  lie  : 

And  a  thousand  thousand  slimy  things 

Lived  on  ;  and  so  did  I. 

I  look'd  upon  the  rotting  sea, 

And  drew  my  eyes  away  ; 

I  look'd  upon  the  rotting  deck, 

And  there  the  dead  men  lay. 

I  look'd  to  heaven,  and  tried  to  pray  ; 
But  or  ever  a  prayer  had  gusht, 
A  wicked  whisper  came,  and  made 
My  heart  as  dry  as  dust. 

I  closed  my  lids,  and  kept  them  close, 

And  the  balls  like  pulses  beat ; 

For  the  sky  and  the  sea,  and  the  sea  and  the  sky 

Lay  like  a  load  on  my  weary  eye, 

And  the  dead  were  at  my  feet. 

The  cold  sweat  melted  from  their  limbs, 
Nor  rot  nor  reek  did  they  : 
The  look  with  which  they  look'd  on  me 
Had  never  pass'd  away. 

An  orphan's  curse  would  drag  to  hell 

A  spirit  from  on  high  ; 

But,  oh  !  more  horrible  than  that 

Is  the  curse  in  a  dead  man's  eye  ! 

Seven  days,  seven  nights,  I  saw  that  curse, 

And  yet  I  could  not  die. 


I72  The  Children's  Treasury 

The  moving  Moon  went  up  the  sky, 
And  nowhere  did  abide  : 
Softly  she  was  going  up, 
And  a  star  or  two  beside  : 

Her  beams  bemock'd  the  sultry  main, 

Like  April  hoar-frost  spread  ; 

But  where  the  ship's  huge  shadow  lay, 

The  charmed  water  burnt  alway 

A  still  and  awful  red. 

Beyond  the  shadow  of  the  ship, 

I  watch'd  the  water- snakes  : 

They  moved  in  tracks  of  shining  white, 

And  when  they  rear'd,  the  elfish  light 

Fell  off  in  hoary  flakes. 

Within  the  shadow  of  the  ship 

I  watch'd  their  rich  attire  : 

Blue,  glossy  green,  and  velvet  black, 

They  coil'd  and  swam  ;  and  every  track 

Was  a  flash  of  golden  fire. 

O  happy  living  things  !  no  tongue 

Their  beauty  might  declare  : 

A  spring  of  love  gush'd  from  my  heart, 

And  I  bless'd  them  unaware  : 

Sure  my  kind  saint  took  pity  on  me, 

And  I  bless'd  them  unaware. 

The  self-same  moment  I  could  pray  ; 
And  from  my  neck  so  free 
The  Albatross  fell  off,  and  sank 
Like  lead  into  the  sea. 

PART  v 
1 0  sleep  !  it  is  a  gentle  thing, 
Beloved  from  pole  to  pole  ! 
To  Mary  Queen  the  praise  be  given  ! 
She  sent  the  gentle  sleep  from  Heaven 
That  slid  into  my  soul. 


of  English  Song  1 73 

The  silly  buckets  on  the  deck 

That  had  so  long  remain'd, 

I  dreamt  that  they  were  fill'd  with  dew  ; 

And  when  I  awoke,  it  rain'd. 

My  lips  were  wet,  my  throat  was  cold, 

My  garments  all  were  dank  ; 

Sure  I  had  drunken  in  my  dreams, 

And  still  my  body  drank. 

I  moved,  and  could  not  feel  my  limbs  : 

I  was  so  light ;  almost 

I  thought  that  I  had  died  in  sleep 

And  was  a  blesse'd  ghost. 

And  soon  I  heard  a  roaring  wind  ; 

It  did  not  come  anear  ; 

But  with  its  sound  it  shook  the  sails, 

That  were  so  thin  and  sere. 

The  upper  air  burst  into  life  ! 

And  a  hundred  fire-flags  sheen, 

To  and  fro,  they  were  hurried  about ! 

And  to  and  fro,  and  in  and  out, 

The  wan  stars  danced  between. 

And  the  coming  wind  did  roar  more  loud, 

And  the  sails  did  sigh  like  sedge ; 

And   the  rain   pour'd   down  from  one   black 

cloud  ; 
The  Moon  was  at  its  edge. 
The  thick  black  cloud  was  cleft,  and  still 
The  Moon  was  at  its  side  : 
Like  waters  shot  from  some  high  crag, 
The  lightning  fell  with  never  a  jag, 
A  river  steep  and  wide. 
The  loud  wind  never  reach'd  the  ship, 
Yet  now  the  ship  moved  on  ! 
Beneath  the  lightning  and  the  Moon 
The  dead  men  gave  a  groan. 

312  sere,  withered  and  dry  317  wan,  pale 


174  The  Children's  Treasury 

They  groan'd,  they  stirr'd,  they  all  uprose, 
JS  or  spake,  nor  moved  their  eyes  ; 
It  had  been  strange,  e'en  in  a  dream, 
To  have  seen  those  dead  men  rise. 

The  helmsman  steer'd  ;  the  ship  moved  on ; 

Yet  never  a  breeze  up  blew  ; 

The  mariners  all  'gan  work  the  ropes 

Where  they  were  wont  to  do  ; 

They  raised  their  limbs  like  lifeless  tools — 

We  were  a  ghastly  crew  ! 

The  body  of  my  brother's  son 
Stood  by  me,  knee  to  knee  : 
The  body  and  I  pull'd  at  one  rope, 
But  he  said  nought  to  me.' 

' — I  fear  thee,  ancient  mariner  !' 
' — Becalm,  thou  Wedding  Guest  ! 
'Twas  not  those  souls  that  fled  in  pain, 
Which  to  their  corses  came  again, 
But  a  troop  of  spirits  blest — 

For  when  it  dawn'd  they  dropp'd  their  arms, 
And  cluster'd  round  the  mast ; 
Sweet  sounds  rose  slowly  through  their  mouths, 
And  from  their  bodies  pass'd. 

Around,  around,  flew  each  sweet  sound, 
Then  darted  to  the  Sun  : 
Slowly  the  sounds  came  back  again, 
Now  mix'd,  now  one  by  one. 

Sometimes  a-dropping  from  the  sky 
I  heard  the  skylark  sing  ; 
Sometimes  all  little  birds  that  are, 
How  they  seem'd  to  fill  the  sea  and  air 
With  their  sweet  jargoning  ! 

348  corses,  dead  bodies  361  jargoning,  chattering 


of  English  Song  175 

And  now  'twas  like  all  instruments, 

Now  like  a  lonely  flute  ; 

And  now  it  is  an  angel's  song, 

That  makes  the  heavens  be  mute. 

It  ceased  ;  yet  still  the  sails  made  on 

A  pleasant  noise  till  noon, 

A  noise  like  of  a  hidden  brook 

In  the  leafy  month  of  June, 

That  to  the  sleeping  woods  all  night 

Singeth  a  quiet  tune. 

Till  noon  we  quietly  sail'd  on, 

Yet  never  a  breeze  did  breathe  : 

Slowly  and  smoothly  went  the  ship, 

Moved  onward  from  beneath. 

Under  the  keel  nine  fathom  deep, 

From  the  land  of  mist  and  snow, 

The  spirit  slid  ;  and  it  was  he 

That  made  the  ship  to  go. 

The  sails  at  noon  left  off  their  tune, 

And  the  ship  stood  still  also. 

The  sun,  right  up  above  the  mast, 

Had  fix'd  her  to  the  ocean  : 

But  in  a  minute  she  'gan  stir, 

With  a  short  uneasy  motion — 

Backwards  and  forwards  half  her  length, 

With  a  short  uneasy  motion. 

Then  like  a  pawing  horse  let  go, 

She  made  a  sudden  bound  : 

It  flung  the  blood  into  my  head, 

And  I  fell  down  in  a  swound. 

How  long  in  that  same  fit  I  lay, 

I  have  not  to  declare  ; 

But  ere  my  living  life  return'd, 

I  heard,  and  in  my  soul  discern'd 

Two  voices  in  the  air. 

396  discerned,  heard 


176  The  Childretis  Treasury 

1  Is  it  he  ? '  quoth  one,  '  is  this  the  man  ? 
'By  Him  who  died  on  cross, 
'With  his  cruel  bow  he  laid  full  low 
'  The  harmless  albatross. 

'  The  spirit  who  bideth  by  himself 
'  In  the  land  of  mist  and  snow, 
1  He  loved  the  bird  that  loved  the  man 
'  Who  shot  him  with  his  bow.' 

The  other  was  a  softer  voice, 

As  soft  as  honey-dew  : 

Quoth  he,  '  The  man  hath  penance  done, 

'  And  penance  more  will  do.' 

PART  VI 

First  Voice 

1  But  tell  me,  tell  me  !  speak  again, 
'  Thy  soft  response  renewing — 
'  What  makes  that  ship  drive  on  so  fast  ? 
'  What  is  the  ocean  doing  ? ' 

Second  Voice 

1  Still  as  a  slave  before  his  lord, 
'  The  ocean  hath  no  blast  ! 
'  His  great  bright  eye  most  silently 
'  Up  to  the  Moon  is  cast — 

'  If  he  may  know  which  way  to  go  : 
'  For  she  guides  him  smooth  or  grim  : 
'  See,  brother,  see  !  how  graciously 
'  She  looketh  down  on  him  ! ' 

First  Voice 

'  Eut  why  drives  on  that  ship  so  fast, 
'  Without  or  wave  or  wind  ?' 

Second  Voice 

1  The  air  is  cut  away  before, 
'  And  closes  from  behind. 

408  penance,  punishment  to  do  away  sin         411  response,  answer 


of  English  Song  177 

'  Fly,  brother,  fly  !  more  high,  more  high  ! 
'  Or  we  shall  be  belated  : 
'  For  slow  and  slow  that  ship  will  go, 
'  When  the  Mariner's  trance  is  abated.' 

I  woke;  and  we  were  sailing  on 

As  in  a  gentle  weather  : 

'Twas  night,  calm  night,  the  moon  was  high  ; 

The  dead  men  stood  together. 

All  stood  together  on  the  deck, 
For  a  charnel-dungeon  fitter  : 
All  fix'd  on  me  their  stony  eyes, 
That  in  the  moon  did  glitter. 

The  pang,  the  curse  with  which  they  died, 
Had  never  pass'd  away  : — 
I  could  not  draw  my  eyes  from  theirs, 
Nor  turn  them  up  to  pray. 

And  now  this  spell  was  snapt  once  moi'e  : — 

I  view'd  the  ocean  green, 

And  look'd  far  forth,  yet  little  saw 

Of  what  had  else  been  seen  : — 

Like  one,  that  on  a  lonesome  road 
Doth  walk  in  fear  and  dread, 
And  having  once  turn'd  round,  walks  on, 
And  turns  no  more  his  head  ; 
Because  he  knows  a  frightful  fiend 
Doth  close  behind  him  tread. 

But  soon  there  breathed  a  wind  on  me, 
Nor  sound  nor  motion  made  : 
Its  path  was  not  upon  the  sea, 
In  ripple  or  in  shade. 

427  belated,  too  late  429  abated,  over 

N 


178  The  Children's  Treasury 

It  raised  my  hair,  it  fann'd  my  cheek 
Like  a  meadow-gale  of  spring  : — 
It  mingled  strangely  with  my  fears, — 
Yet  it  felt  like  a  welcoming. 

Swiftly,  swiftly  flew  the  ship, 
Yet  she  sail'd  softly,  too  ; 
Sweetly,  sweetly  blew  the  breeze — 
On  me  alone  it  blew. 

Oh  !  dream  of  joy  !  is  this  indeed 
The  light-house  top  I  see  ? 
Is  this  the  hill  ?  is  this  the  kirk? 
Is  this  mine  own  countree  ? 

We  drifted  o'er  the  harbour-bar, 
And  I  with  sobs  did  pray — 

0  let  me  be  awake,  my  God  ! 
Or  let  me  sleep  alway. 

The  harbour-bay  was  clear  as  glass, 
So  smoothly  it  was  strewn  : 
And  on  the  bay  the  moonlight  lay, 
Aud  the  shadow  of  the  moon. 

The  rock  shone  bright,  the  kirk  no  less 
That  stands  above  the  rock  : 
The  moonlight  steep'd  in  silentness 
The  steady  weather-cock. 

And  the  bay  was  white  with  silent  light 
Till,  rising  from  the  same, 
Full  many  shapes,  that  shadows  were, 
In  crimson  colours  came. 

A  little  distance  from  the  prow 
Those  crimson  shadows  were  : 

1  turn'd  my  eyes  upon  the  deck — 
Oh,  Heaven  !  —what  saw  I  there ! 


of  English  Song  179 

Each  corse  lay  flat,  lifeless  and  flat, 
And,  by  the  holy  rood  ! 
A  man  all  light,  a  seraph-man, 
On  every  corse  there  stood. 

This  seraph-band,  each  waved  his  hand: 
It  was  a  heavenly  sight  ! 
They  stood  as  signals  to  the  land, 
Each  one  a  lovely  light. 

This  seraph-band,  each  waved  his  hand, 
No  voice  did  they  impart — 
No  voice  ;  but  oh  !  the  silence  sank 
Like  music  on  my  heart. 

But  soon  I  heard  the  dash  of  oars  ; 
I  heard  the  pilot's  cheer  ; 
My  head  was  turn'd  perforce  away, 
And  I  saw  a  boat  appear. 

The  Pilot  and  the  Pilot's  boy, 

I  heard  them  coming  fast  : 

Dear  Lord  in  Heaven  !  it  was  a  joy 

The  dead  men  could  not  blast. 

I  saw  a  third — I  heard  his  voice  : 

It  is  the  Hermit  good  ! 

He  singeth  loud  his  godly  hymns 

That  he  makes  in  the  wood. 

He'll  shrieve  my  soul,  he'll  wash  away 

The  Albatross's  blood. 

PART  VII 

'  This  Hermit  good  lives  in  that  wood 
Which  slopes  down  to  the  sea  : — 
How  loudly  his  sweet  voice  he  rears  ! 
He  loves  to  talk  with  marineres 
That  come  from  a  far  countree. 

497  impart,  utter     507  blast,  spoil       512  shrieve,  cleanse  from  sin 

N   2 


180  The  Children's  Treasury 

He  kneels  at  morn,  and  noon,  and  eve — 

He  hath  a  cushion  plump  : 

It  is  the  moss  that  wholly  hides 

The  rotted  old  oak-stump. 

The  skiff-boat  neai^d  :  I  heard  them  talk, 
'  Why,  this  is  strange,  I  trow  ! 
'  Where  are  those  lights  so  many  and  fair, 
'  That  signal  made  but  now  ? ' 

'  Strange,  by  my  faith,'  the  Hermit  said — 

'  And  they  answered  not  our  cheer  ! 

'  The  planks  look'd  warp'd  !  and  see  those  sails, 

'  How  thin  they  are  and  sere  ! 

'  I  never  saw  aught  like  to  them, 

'  Unless  perchance  it  were 

'  Brown  skeletons  of  leaves  that  lag 
'  My  forest-brook  along  ; 
'  When  the  ivy-tod  is  heavy  with  snow, 
'  And  the  owlet  whoops  to  the  wolf  below, 
'  That  eats  the  she-wolfs  young.' 

'  Dear  Lord  !  it  hath  a  fiendish  look ' 
(The  Pilot  made  reply) 
'  I  am  a-fear'd.'     '  Push  on,  push  on  ! ' 
Said  the  Hermit  cheerily. 

The  boat  came  closer  to  the  ship, 
But  I  nor  spake  nor  stirr'd  ; 
The  boat  came  close  beneath  the  ship, 
And  straight  a  sound  was  heard  : — 

Under  the  water  it  rumbled  on, 
Still  louder  and  more  dread  : 
It  reach'd  the  ship,  it  split  the  bay ; 
The  ship  went  down  like  lead. 

524  trow,  think  530  sere,  withered  535  tod,  bush 


of  English  Song  i ! 

Stunn'd  by  that  loud  and  dreadful  sound, 

Which  sky  and  ocean  smote, 

Like  one  that  hath  been  seven  days  drown'd 

My  body  lay  afloat  ; 

But  swift  as  dreams,  myself  I  found 

Within  the  Pilot's  boat 

Upon  the  whirl,  where  sank  the  ship, 
The  boat  spun  round  and  round  ; 
And  all  was  still,  save  that  the  hill 
Was  telling  of  the  sound. 

I  moved  my  lips — the  Pilot  shriek'd 
And  fell  down  in  a  fit  : 
The  holy  Hermit  raised  his  eyes, 
And  pray'd  where  he  did  sit. 

And  now,  all  in  my  own  countree, 

I  stood  on  the  firm  land ! 

The  Hermit  stepp'd  forth  from  the  boat, 

And  scarcely  he  could  stand. 

'  O  shrieve  me,  shrieve  me,  holy  man  ! ' 
The  Hermit  cross'd  his  brow, 
1  Say  quick,'  quoth  he,  '  I  bid  thee  say — 
'  What  manner  of  man  art  thou  ? ' 

Forthwith  this  frame  of  mine  was  wrench'd 
With  a  woful  agony, 
Which  forced  me  to  begin  my  tale  ; 
And  then  it  left  me  free. 

Since  then,  at  an  uncertain  hour, 
That  agony  returns  : 
And  till  my  ghastly  tale  is  told, 
This  heart  within  me  burns. 

I  pass,  like  night,  from  land  to  land  ; 
I  have  strange  power  of  speech  ; 
That  moment  that  his  face  I  see, 
I  know  the  man  that  must  hear  me  : 
To  him  my  tale  I  teach. 


The  Children's  Treasury 

— What  loud  uproar  bursts  from  that  door  ! 

The  wedding  guests  are  there  : 

But  in  the  garden-bower  the  bride 

And  bridemaids  singing  are  : 

And  hark  the  little  vesper  bell, 

Which  biddeth  me  to  prayer  ! 

O  wedding-guest !  this  soul  hath  been 

Alone  on  a  wide,  wide  sea  : 

So  lonely  'twas,  that  God  Himself 

Scarce  seeme"d  there  to  be. 

O  sweeter  than  the  marriage-feast, 

'Tis  sweeter  far  to  me, 

To  walk  together  to  the  kirk 

With  a  goodly  company ! 

To  walk  together  to  the  kirk, 

And  all  together  pray, 

While  each  to  his  Great  Father  bends, 

Old  men,  and  babes,  and  loving  friends, 

And  youths  and  maidens  gay  ! 

— Farewell,  farewell  !  but  this  I  tell 

To  thee,  thou  Wedding-guest ! 

He  prayeth  well  who  loveth  well 

Both  man  and  bird  and  beast. 

He  prayeth  best  who  loveth  best 

All  things  both  great  and  small  ; 

For  the  dear  God  who  loveth  us, 

He  made  and  loveth  all.' 

—  The  Mariner,  whose  eye  is  bright, 

Whose  beard  with  age  is  hoar, 

Is  gone  :  and  now  the  wedding-guest 

Turn'd  from  the  bridegroom's  door. 

He  went  like  one  that  hath  been  stunn'd, 

And  is  of  sense  forlorn  : — 

A  sadder  and  a  wiser  man, 

He  rose  the  morrow  morn. 

$.   T.    Coleridge 
589  vesper,  evening 


of  English  Song  183 

*i3* 

THE   FEARFUL    STORY 

1  O  where  have  ye  been,  my  long-lost  lover, 
'  This  long  seven  years  and  mair  ? ' 

' — O,  I'm  come  again  to  seek  your  love, 
'  And  the  vows  that  ye  did  swear.' 

"  Now  haud  your  tongue  of  my  love  and  vows, 

'  For  they  can  breed  but  strife  ; 
'  Now  haud  your  tongue  of  my  former  vows, 

'  For  I  am  another  man's  wife.' 

'  — Had  I  kenn'd  that  ere  I  came  here, 

'  I  ne'er  had  come  to  thee  ; 
'  For  I  might  ha'e  married  the  king's  daughter, 

'  Were  it  not  for  the  love  of  thee. 

'  I  despised  the  crown  of  gold, 

'  And  the  fair  ladye  also  ; 
'  And  I  am  come  back  to  my  own  true  Love, 

'  But  with  me  she'll  not  go. 

'  Ye  may  leave  your  husband  to  himself, 

'  And  your  little  son  also, 
'  And  sail  with  me  across  the  sea 

'  Where  the  stormy  winds  do  blow.' 

'  — O,  what  have  you  to  keep  me  with, 

'  If  I  with  you  should  go  — 
'  If  I  should  forsake  my  good  husband, 

'  My  little  young  son  also  ? ' 

'  — See  ye  not  yon  seven  pretty  ships — 

'  The  eighth  brought  me  to  land — 
e  With  merchandise  and  mariners, 

'  And  wealth  in  every  hand  ? ' 

7  hand,  hold 


!4  The  Children's  Treasury 

She  turn'd  her  round  upon  the  shore, 

Her  Love's  ships  to  behold  ; 
Their  mainyards  and  their  topmasts  high 

Were  cover'd  o'er  with  gold. 

And  she  has  gone  to  her  little  young  son, 

Kiss'd  him  both  cheek  and  chin  : 
'  O  fare  ye  well,  my  little  son  ! 
'  For  I'll  never  see  you  again.' 

She  has  drawn  the  slippers  on  her  feet, 
Well  wrought  with  threads  o'  gold, 

And  he's  wrapt  her  round  with  the  soft  velvet 
To  hold  her  from  the  cold. 

She  had  not  sail'd  a  league  from  land, 

A  league  but  barely  three. 
Till  she  minded  on  her  dear  husband, 

And  her  little  young  son  tee. 

'  O  if  I  were  on  shore  again, 

'  On  shore  where  I  would  be, 
'  No  living  man  should  flatter  me 

'To  sail  upon  the  sea  !' 

— '  O  haud  your  tongue  of  weeping,'  says  he, 
'  Let  all  your  mourning  be  ; 
'  I'll  show  ye  how  the  lilies  grow 

'  On  the  banks  of  Italie.' 

'  — O,  what  hills  are  yon,  yon  pleasant  hills, 
'  That  the  sun  shines  sweetly  on  ?' 

'  — O,  yon  are  the  hills  o'  Heaven,'  he  said, 
'  Where  you  will  never  win.' 

' — O,  whatna  mountain  is  yon,'  she  said, 
'  Sae  dreary  with  frost  and  snow  ?' 

'  — O,  yon  is  the  mountain  of  Hell,'  he  cried, 
'  Where  you  and  I  must  go  ! ' 

43  minded  on,  remembered  44  tee,  too 


of  English  Song  i  Sf 

And  aye  when  she  turn'd  her  round  about, 

Aye  taller  he  seem'd  for  to  be  : 
Until  that  the  tops  of  that  gallant  ship 

No  taller  were  than  he  ! 

He  strack  the  mainmast  with  his  hand, 

The  foremast  with  his  knee  ; 
The  gallant  ship  was  broken  in  twain, 

And  sank  into  the  sea  ! 

Unknown 

*  14* 
THE   WRECK  OF  THE  HESPERUS 

It  was  the  schooner  Hesperus, 

That  sail'd  the  wintry  sea  ; 
And  the  skipper  had  taken  his  little  daughter, 

To  bear  him  company. 

Blue  were  her  eyes  as  the  fairy  flax, 

Her  cheeks  like  the  dawn  of  day, 
And  her  bosom  white  as  the  hawthorn  buds, 

That  ope  in  the  month  of  May. 

The  skipper  he  stood  beside  the  helm, 

With  his  pipe  in  his  mouth, 
And  watch'd  how  the  veering  flaw  did  blow 

The  smoke  now  West,  now  South. 

Then  up  and  spake  an  old  Sailor, 

Had  sail'd  the  Spanish  Main, 
'  I  pray  thee,  put  into  yonder  port, 

'  For  I  fear  a  hurricane. 

'  Last  night,  the  moon  had  a  golden  ring, 

'  And  to-night  no  moon  we  see  ! ' 
The  skipper,  he  blew  a  whiff  from  his  pipe, 

And  a  scornful  laugh  laugh'd  he. 

3  skipper,  captain         it  veering  flaw,  changeable  gusts  of  wind 
16  hurricane,  sudden  storm  17  ring,  halo 


1 86  The  Children 's  Treasury 

Colder  and  louder  blew  the  wind, 

A  gale  from  the  North-east ; 
The  snow  fell  hissing  in  the  brine, 

And  the  billows  froth'd  like  yeast. 

Down  came  the  storm,  and  smote  amain 

The  vessel  in  its  strength  ; 
She  shudder'd  and  paused,  like  a  frighted  steed, 

Then  leap'd  her  cable's  length. 

'  Come  hither  !  come  hither  !  my  little  daughter, 

'  And  do  not  tremble  so  ! 
'  For  I  can  weather  the  roughest  gale, 

'  That  ever  wind  did  blow.' 

He  wrapp'd  her  warm  in  his  seaman's  coat 

Against  the  stinging  blast ; 
He  cut  a  rope  from  a  broken  spar, 

And  bound  her  to  the  mast. 

1  O  father  !  I  hear  the  church-bells  ring, 

'  O  say,  what  may  it  be  ? ' 
' — 'Tis  a  fog-bell  on  a  rock-bound  coast  !' — 

And  he  steer'd  for  the  open  sea. 

'  O  father !  I  hear  the  sound  of  guns, 

'  O  say,  what  may  it  be  ? ' 
'  — Some  ship  in  distress  that  cannot  live 

'  In  such  an  angry  sea  !' 

'  O  father  !  I  see  a  gleaming  light, 

'  O  say  what  may  it  be  ? ' 
But  the  father  answer'd  never  a  word, — 

A  frozen  corpse  was  he. 

Lash'd  to  the  helm,  all  stiff  and  stark, 

With  his  face  to  the  skies, 
The  lantern  gleam'd  through  the  gleaming  snow 

On  his  fix'd  and  glassy  eyes. 

39  fog-bett,  rung  in  thick  weather  to  warn  ships 


of  English  Song  187 

Then  the  maiden  clasp'd  her  hands  and  pray'd 

That  save'd  she  might  be  ; 
And  she  thought  of  Christ,  who  still'd  the  waves 

On  the  Lake  of  Galilee. 

And  fast  through  the  midnight  dark  and  drear, 
Through  the  whistling  sleet  and  snow, 

Like  a  sheeted  ghost,  the  vessel  swept 
Towards  the  reef  of  Norman's  Woe. 

And  ever  the  fitful  gusts  between 

A  sound  came  from  the  land  ; 
It  was  the  sound  of  the  trampling  surf, 

On  the  rocks  and  the  hard  sea-sand. 

The  breakers  were  right  beneath  her  bows, 

She  drifted  a  dreary  wreck, 
And  a  whooping  billow  swept  the  crew 

Like  icicles  from  her  deck. 

She  struck  where  the  white  and  fleecy  waves 

Look'd  soft  as  carded  wool, 
But  the  cruel  rocks  they  gored  her  sides 

Like  the  horns  of  an  angry  bull. 

Her  rattling  shrouds  all  sheathed  in  ice, 
With  the  masts  went  by  the  board  ; 

Like  a  vessel  of  glass  she  stove  and  sank, 
Ho  !  ho  !  the  breakers  roar'd. 

At  day-break  on  the  bleak  sea-beach 

A  fisherman  stood  aghast, 
To  see  the  form  of  a  maiden  fair 

Lash'd  close  to  a  drifting  mast. 

60  reef,  bank  of  half-covered  rock  61  fitful,  rising  and  falling 

65  bows,  forepart  70  carded,  combed  fine 

73  shrouds,  mast-ropes  74  went  clean  over  the  deck 

75  stove,  was  broken  in  78  aghast,  horrified 


38  The  Children's  Treasury 

The  salt  sea  was  frozen  on  her  breast, 

The  salt  tears  in  her  eyes  ; 
And  he  saw  her  hair  like  the  brown  sea-weed 

On  the  billows  fall  and  rise. 

H.  W.  Longfellow 

*  15  * 

ROSABELLE 

0  listen,  listen,  ladies  gay  ! 
No  haughty  feat  of  armsl  tell; 

Soft  is  the  note,  and  sad  the  lay 
That  mourns  the  lovely  Rosabelle. 

'  Moor,  moor  the  barge,  ye  gallant  crew, 

'  And,  gentle  lady,  deign  to  stay ! 
4  Rest  thee  in  Castle  Ravensheuch, 

'  Nor  tempt  the  stormy  firth  to-day. 

'  The  blackening  wave  is  edged  with  white  ; 

'  To  inch  and  rock  the  sea-mews  fly  ; 
'  The  fishers  have  heard  the  Water-Sprite, 

1  Whose  screams  forebode  that  wreck  is  nigh. 

1  Last  night  the  gifted  Seer  did  view 

'  A  wet  shroud  swathed  round  lady  gay  ; 
'  Then  stay  thee,  Fair,  in  Ravensheuch  ; 
'  Why  cross  the  gloomy  firth  to-day  ?' 

— '  'Tis  not  because  Lord  Lindesay's  heir 
'  To-night  at  Roslin  leads  the  ball  ; 
'  But  that  my  lady-mother  there 

'  Sits  lonely  in  her  castle-hall. 

'  'Tis  not  because  the  ring  they  ride, 
'  And  Lindesay  at  the  ring  rides  well, 

'  But  that  my  sire  the  wine  will  chide 
'  If  'tis  not  fill'd  by  Rosabelle.' 

2  feat,  deed  6  deign,  be  kind  enough 

8  firth,  strait  10  inch,  island  13  seer,  prophet 

22  ring,  a  game  in  which  riders  drove  through  a  ring 


of  English  Song  189 

O'er  Roslin  all  that  weary  night 
A  wondrous  blaze  was  seen  to  gleam  ; 

'Twas  broader  than  the  watch-fire's  light, 
And  redder  than  the  bright  moonbeam. 

It  glared  on  Roslin's  castled  rock, 
It  ruddied  all  the  copse-wood  glen  ; 

'Twas  seen  from  Dryden's  groves  of  oak, 
And  seen  from  cavern'd  Hawthornden. 

Seem'd  all  on  fire  that  chapel  proud, 
Where  Roslin's  chiefs  uncoffin'd  lie, 

Each  Baron,  for  a  sable  shroud, 
Sheathed  in  his  iron  panoply. 

Seem'd  all  on  fire  within,  around, 

Deep  sacristy  and  altar's  pale  ; 
Shone  every  pillar  foliage-bound, 

And  glimmer'd  all  the  dead  men's  mail. 

Blazed  battlement  and  pinnet  high, 

Blazed  every  rose- carved  buttress  fair — 

So  still  they  blaze,  when  fate  is  nigh 
The  lordly  line  of  high  Saint  Clair. 

There  are  twenty  of  Roslin's  barons  bold 
Lie  buried  within  that  proud  chapelle  ; 

Each  one  the  holy  vault  doth  hold, — 
But  the  sea  holds  lovely  Rosabelle  ! 

And  each  Saint  Clair  was  buried  there 
With  candle,  with  book,  and  with  knell ; 

But  the  sea-caves  rung,  and  the  wild  winds  sung 
The  dirge  of  lovely  Rosabelle. 

Sir  W.  Scott 

36  panoply,  complete  coat  of  armour 

38  sacristy,  vestry  :  pale,  space  round  altar 

39  foliage-bound,  carved  with  leaves        40  mail,  jhain-armour 
41  pinnet,  pinnacle  ^fate,  death 

50  with  the  old  funeral  service  52  dirge,  funeral  chant 


190  The  Children^  Treasury 

*  16* 

GLENCOE 

*  O  tell  me,  Harper,  wherefore  flow 
Thy  wayward  notes  of  wail  and  woe 
Far  down  the  desert  of  Glencoe, 

Where  none  may  list  their  melody  ? 
Say,  harp'st  thou  to  the  mists  that  fly, 
Or  to  the  dun-deer  glancing  by, 
Or  to  the  eagle  that  from  high 

Screams  chorus  to  thy  minstrelsy  ? ' 

— '  No,  not  to  these,  for  they  have  rest  : — 
The  mist-wreath  has  the  mountain-crest, 
The  stag  his  lair,  the  erne  her  nest, 

Abode  of  lone  security. 
But  those  for  whom  I  pour  the  lay, 
Not  wild-wood  deep,  nor  mountain  gray, 
Not  this  deep  dell,  that  shrouds  from  day, 

Could  screen  from  treach'rous  cruelty. 

'  Their  flag  was  furl'd,  and  mute  their  drum  : 
The  very  household  dogs  were  dumb, 
Unwont  to  bay  at  guests  that  come 

In  guise  of  hospitality. 
His  blithest  notes  the  piper  plied, 
Her  gayest  snood  the  maiden  tied, 
The  dame  her  distaff  flung  aside, 

To  tend  her  kindly  housewifery. 

'  The  hand  that  mingled  in  the  meal, 
At  midnight  drew  the  felon  steel, 
And  gave  the  host's  kind  breast  to  feel 
Meed,  for  his  hospitality  ! 

3  see  end  8  screams  in  answer  11  erne,  eagle 

15  shrouds,  hides        17  mute,  silent        19  unwont,  not  accustomed 
20  guise,  look  22  snood,  hair-ribbon  worn  by  girls 

26  felon,  base>  treacherous  28  meed,  reward 


of  English  Song  191 

The  friendly  hearth  which  warm'd  that  hand, 
At  midnight  arm'd  it  with  the  brand, 
That  bade  destruction's  flames  expand 

Their  red  and  fearful  blazonry. 
'  Then  woman's  shriek  was  heard  in  vain, — 
Nor  infancy's  unpitied  plain 
More  than  the  warrior's  groan,  could  gain 

Respite  from  ruthless  butchery  ! 
The  winter  wind  that  whistled  shrill, 
The  snows  that  night  that  cloked  the  hill, 
Though  wild  and  pitiless,  had  still 

Far  more  than  Southron  clemency. 
'  Long  have  my  harp's  best  notes  been  gone, 
Few  are  its  strings,  and  faint  their  tone ; 
They  can  but  sound  in  desert  lone 

Their  gray-hair'd  master's  misery. 
Were  each  gray  hair  a  minstrel  string, 
Each  chord  should  imprecations  fling, 
Till  startled  Scotland  loud  should  ring, 

'  Revenge  for  blood  and  treachery  ! ' 

Sir  W.  Scott 
*  17  * 
SONG  OF  THE  EMIGRANTS  IN  BERMUDA 

Where  the  remote  Bermudas  ride 
In  the  ocean's  bosom  unespied, 
From  a  small  boat  that  row'd  along 
The  listening  winds  received  this  song  : 
'  What  should  we  do  but  sing  His  praise 
That  led  us  through  the  watery  maze 
Where  He  the  huge  sea  monsters  wracks 
That  lift  the  deep  upon  their  backs, 
Unto  an  isle  so  long  unknown, 
And  yet  far  kinder  than  our  own  ? 

30  brand,  torch        34  /lain,  crying        35  gain  respite,  save  itself 
40  clemency,  mercy  41  clwrd,  string 

1  ride,  lie  2  unespied,  hidden  6  maze,  pathless  sea 


ig2  The  Children's  Treasury 

He  lands  us  on  a  grassy  stage, 

Safe  from  the  storms,  and  prelate's  rage  : 

He  gave  us  this  eternal  spring 

Which  here  enamels  everything, 

And  sends  the  fowls  to  us  in  care 

On  daily  visits  through  the  air. 

He  hangs  in  shades  the  orange  bright 

Like  golden  lamps  in  a  green  night, 

And  does  in  the  pomegranates  close 

Jewels  more  rich  than  Ormus  shows  : 

He  makes  the  figs  our  mouths  to  meet, 

And  throws  the  melons  at  our  feet ; 

But  apples  plants  of  such  a  price, 

No  tree  could  ever  bear  them  twice  ! 

With  cedars  chosen  by  his  hand 

From  Lebanon  he  stores  the  land  ; 

And  makes  the  hollow  seas  that  roar 

Proclaim  the  ambergris  on  shore. 

He  cast  (of  which  we  rather  boast) 

The  Gospel's  pearl  upon  our  coast ; 

And  in  these  rocks  for  us  did  frame 

A  temple  where  to  sound  His  name. 

O  let  our  voice  His  praise  exalt 

Till  it  arrive  at  Heaven's  vault, 

Which  then  perhaps  rebounding  may 

Echo  beyond  the  Mexique  bay  ! ' 

— Thus  sung  they  in  the  English  boat 

A.  holy  and  a  cheerful  note  : 

And  all  the  way,  to  guide  their  chime, 

With  falling  oars  they  kept  the  time. 

A.  Mar-veil 


ti  stage,  plain  12  see  end  14  enamels,  colours  brightly 

19  the  pomegrante  seeds  are  like  rubies 

20  Ormus,  island  in  the  Persian  Gulf  23  price,  value 

28  proclaim,  give  notice  of;  ambergris,  fragrant  gum  floating 
on  the  sea 


of  English  Song  193 

*  18  * 

THE  PILGRIM 

Who  would  true  valour  see 

Let  him  come  hither  ! 
One  here  will  constant  be, 

Come  wind,  come  weather  : 
There's  no  discouragement 
Shall  make  him  once  relent 
His  first-avow'd  intent 

To  be  a  Pilgrim. 
Whoso  beset  him  round 

With  dismal  stories, 
Do  but  themselves  confound  ; 

His  strength  the  more  is. 
No  lion  can  him  fright ; 
He'll  with  a  giant  fight  ; 
But  he  will  have  a  right 

To  be  a  Pilgrim. 
Nor  enemy,  nor  fiend, 

Can  daunt  his  spirit  ; 
He  knows  he  at  the  end 

Shall  Life  inherit  : — 
Then,  fancies,  fly  away  ; 
He'll  not  fear  what  men  say  ; 
He'll  labour,  night  and  day, 

To  be  a  Pilgrim. 

J.  Bunyan 
*  19  * 
TRUE  GREATNESS 

The  fairest  action  of  our  human  life 

Is  scorning  to  revenge  an  injury  : 
For  who  forgives  without  a  further  strife 

His  adversary's  heart  to  him  doth  tie  : 
Arid  'tis  a  firmer  conquest  truly  said 
To  win  the  heart,  than  overthrow  the  head. 

6  relent,  slacken         7  avaw'd,  proclaimed         17  daunt,  frighleii 
S  said,  called 


194  The  ChildretHs  Treasury 

If  we  a  worthy  enemy  do  find, 

To  yield  to  worth,  it  must  be  nobly  done  : — 
But  if  of  baser  metal  be  his  mind, 

In  base  revenge  there  is  no  honour  won. 
Who  would  a  worthy  courage  overthrow  ? 
And  who  would  wrestle  with  a  worthless  foe  ? 

We  say  our  hearts  are  great,  and  cannot  yield  ; 

Because  they  cannot  yield,  it  proves  them  poor  : 
Great  hearts   are   task'd  beyond  their  power  but 
seld : 
The  weakest  lion  will  the  loudest  roar. 
Truth's  school  for  certain  does  this  same  allow, 
High-heartedness  doth  sometimes  teach  to  bow. 

Lady  E.  Carew 


*  20  * 
CHARACTER  OF  A   HAPPY  LIFE 

How  happy  is  he  born  and  taught 
That  serveth  not  another's  will ; 
Whose  armour  is  his  honest  thought, 
And  simple  truth  his  utmost  skill ! 

Whose  passions  not  his  masters  are, 
Whose  soul  is  still  prepared  for  death, 
Not  tied  unto  the  world  with  care 
Of  public  fame,  or  private  breath  ; 

Who  envies  none  that  chance  doth  raise 
Or  vice  ;  who  never  understood 
How  deepest  wounds  are  given  by  praise  ; 
Nor  rules  of  state,  but  rules  of  good  : 

8  it  must  be  a  noble  thing  to  yield  to  a  worthy  enemy 

9  metal,  quality  11  courage,  enemy  15  seld,  seldom 
Character,  description        8  private  &reatk,wha.t  his  neighbours  say 

12  state,  policy,  craft 


of  English  Song  195 

Who  hath  his  life  from  rumours  freed  ; 
Whose  conscience  is  his  strong  retreat ; 
Whose  state  can  neither  flatterers  feed, 
Nor  ruin  make  accusers  great ; 

Who  God  doth  late  and  early  pray 
More  of  His  grace  than  gifts  to  lend  ; 
And  entertains  the  harmless  day 
With  a  well-chosen  book  or  friend  ; 

— This  man  is  freed  from  servile  bands 
Of  hope  to  rise,  or  fear  to  fall ; 
Lord  of  himself,  though  not  of  lands  ; 
And  having  nothing,  yet  hath  all. 

Sir  H.  Wotton 

< 

*  21  * 

THE  CHIMNEY  SWEEPER 

When  my  mother  died  I  was  very  young, 
And  my  father  sold  me  while  yet  my  tongue 
Could  scarcely  cry,  'weep  /  'weep  !  '  weep  /  'weep  ! 
So  your  chimneys  I  sweep,  and  in  soot  I  sleep. 

There's   little   Tom    Dacre,  who   cried  when    his 

head, 
That  curl'd  like  a  lamb's  back,  was  shaved  ;  so  I 

said, 
'  Hush,  Tom  !  never  mind  it,  for  when  your  head's 

bare, 
'  You  know  that  the  soot  cannot  spoil  your  white 

hair.' 

And  so  he  was  quiet  :  and  that  very  night, 
As  Tom  was  a-sleeping,  he  had  such  a  sight, 
That  thousands  of  sweepers,  Dick,  Joe,  Ned,  and 

Jack, 
Were  all  of  them  lock'd  up  in  coffins  of  black. 

13  rumours,  I  suppose,  vain  alarms 
15  not  rich  enough  to  invite  flatterers  or  enemies 
21  servile  bands,  from  being  bound  like  a  slave 

O   2 


196  The  Children's  Treasury 

And  by  came  an  angel,  who  had  a  bright  key, 
And  he  open'd  the  coffins,  and  set  them  all  free  ; 
Then  down  a  green  plain,  leaping,  laughing  they 

run, 
And  wash  in  a  river,  and  shine  in  the  sun. 

Then  naked  and  white,  all  their  bags  left  behind, 
They  rise  upon  clouds,  and  sport  in  the  wind  ; 
And  the  angel  told  Tom,  if  he'd  be  a  good  boy, 
He'd  have  God  for  his  father,  and  never  want  joy. 

And  so  Tom  awoke  ;  and  we  rose  in  the  dark, 
And  got  with  our  bags  and  our  brushes  to  work  ; 
Though  the  morning  was  cold,  Tom  was  happy  and 

warm  : 
So,  if  all  do  their  duty,  they  need  not  fear  harm. 

W.  Blake 
*  22  * 
DEATH   THE  LEVELLER 

THE  glories  of  our  blood  and  state 

Are  shadows,  not  substantial  things  ; 
There  is  no  armour  against  fate  ; 
Death  lays  his  icy  hand  on  kings  : 
Sceptre  and  Crown 
Must  tumble  down, 
And  in  the  dust  be  equal  made 
With  the  poor  crooked  scythe  and  spade. 

Some  men  with  swords  may  reap  the  field, 
And  plant  fresh  laurels  where  they  kill  : 
But  their  strong  nerves  at  last  must  yield  ; 
They  tame  but  one  another  still  : 
Early  or  late 
They  stoop  to  fate, 
And  must  give  up  their  murmuring  breath 
When  they,  pale  captives,  creep  to  death. 

1  blood  and  state,  life  and  condition  5  kings  and  labourers,  all 

must  die  9  field,  of  glory  10  and  gain  fresh  fame 

12  tame,  conquer 


of  English  Song  197 

The  garlands  wither  on  your  brow  ; 

Then  boast  no  more  your  mighty  deeds  ; 
Upon  Death's  purple  altar  now 
See  where  the  victor-victim  bleeds  ! 
Your  heads  must  come 
To  the  cold  tomb  : — 
Only  the  actions  of  the  just 
Smell  sweet,  and  blossom  in  their  dust. 

y.  Shirley 

HE  A  DEN  OV  A  HEAD-STWONE 
Dorset  dialect 
As  I  wer  readen  ov  a  stwone, 
In  Grenley  church-yard,  all  alwone, 
A  little  maid  ran  up,  wi'  pride 
To  zee  me  there ;  an'  push'd  azide 
A  bunch  o'  bennets,  that  did  hide 
A  verse  her  father,  as  she  zaid, 
Put  up  above  her  mother's  head 
To  tell  how  much  he  loved  her. 

The  verse  wer  short,  but  very  good, 
I  stood  an'  learn'd  en  where  I  stood, 
'  Mid  God,  dear  Meary,  gi'e  me  greace 
'  To  vind,  like  thee,  a  better  pleace, 
'Where  I,  oonce  mwore,  mid  zee  thy  feace  ; 
'  An'  bring  thy  childern  up,  to  know 
'  His  word,  that  they  mid  come  an'  show 
'  Thy  soul  how  much  I  loved  thee.' 

4  Where's  father,  then,5  I  zaid,  '  my  chile  ? ' 
'  Dead,  too,'  she  answer'd  wi'  a  smile  : 
'  An'  I  an'  brother  Jem  do  bide 
'  At  Betty  White's,  o'  tother  zide 

17  garlands,  crowns  of  glory       20  victor-victun,  the  dying  conqueror 

S3  just,  good 

Head-stwone,  stone  at  head  of  a  grave  5  bennets,  bent-grass 

11  mid,  might  12  vind,  find  19  bide,  live 


198  The  Children 's  Treasury 

*  O'  road.' — '  Mid  He,  my  chile,'  I  cried, 
'  That's  father  to  the  fatherless, 
1  Become  thy  father  now,  an'  bless 
'  An'  keep,  an'  lead,  an'  love  thee.' 
—  Though  she've  a-lost,  I  thought,  so  much, 
Still  He  don't  let  the  thoughts  o't  touch 
Her  litsome  heart,  by  day  or  night ; 
An'  zoo,  if  we  could  teake  it  right, 
Do  show  He'll  meake  his  burdens  light 
To  weaker  souls  ;  an'  that  his  smile, 
Is  sweet  upon  a  little  chile, 
When  they  be  dead  that  loved  it. 

W.  Barnes 

*  24  * 
THE  BURIAL  OF  SIR  JOHN  MOORE  A  T  CORUNNA 

NOT  a  drum  was  heard,  not  a  funeral  note, 
As  his  corpse  to  the  rampart  we  hurried  ; 

Not  a  soldier  discharged  his  farewell  shot 
O'er  the  grave  where  our  hero  we  buried. 

We  buried  him  darkly  at  dead  of  night, 
The  sods  with  our  bayonets  turning ; 

By  the  struggling  moonbeam's  misty  light 
And  the  lantern  dimly  burning. 

No  useless  coffin  inclosed  his  breast, 

Not  in  sheet  nor  in  shroud  we  wound  him  ; 

But  he  lay  like  a  warrior  taking  his  rest 
With  his  martial  cloak  around  him. 

Few  and  short  were  the  prayers  we  said, 
And  we  spoke  not  a  word  of  sorrow  ; 

But   we   steadfastly  gazed   on   the   face   that   was 
dead, 
And  we  bitterly  thought  of  the  morrow. 

27  liisome,  light  1  note,  sound 

2  rampart,  wall  or  line  of  fortification  3  discharged,  fired 

4  hero,  noble  and  loved  one  11  warrior,  soldier 
12  martial,  soldier's 


of  English  Song  199 

We  thought  as  we  hollow'd  his  narrow  bed 
And  smoothed  down  his  lonely  pillow, 

That  the  foe  and  the  stranger  would  tread  o'er  his 
head, 
And  we  far  away  on  the  billow  ! 

Lightly  they'll  talk  of  the  spirit  that's  gone 
And  o'er  his  cold  ashes  upbraid  him, — 

But  little  he'll  reck,  if  they  let  him  sleep  on 
In  the  grave  where  a  Briton  has  laid  him. 

But  half  of  our  heavy  task  was  done 

When  the  clock  struck  the  hour  for  retiring  ; 

And  we  heard  the  distant  and  random  gun 
That  the  foe  was  sullenly  firing. 

Slowly  and  sadly  we  laid  him  down, 

From  the  field  of  his  fame  fresh  and  gory  ; 

We  carved  not  a  line,  and  we  raised  not  a  stone — 
But  we  left  him  alone  with  his  glory. 

C.    Wolfe 

*25  * 
THE  BRITISH  SOLDIER  IN  CHINA 

Last  night  among  his  fellow-roughs 

He  jested,  quaff'd,  and  swore  : 
A  drunken  private  of  the  Buffs, 

Who  never  look'd  before. 
To-day,  beneath  the  foeman's  frown, 

He  stands  in  Elgin's  place, 
Ambassador  from  Britain's  crown, 

And  type  of  all  her  race. 

22  ashes,  body  :  upbraid,  blame  23  reck,  care 

6  Lord  Elgin  was  then  our  ambassador  in  China  :  see  end 

7  ambassador,  person  sent  to  represent  the  Queen 

8  type,  example 


X)  The  Children's  Treasury 

Poor,  reckless,  rude,  low-born,  untaught, 

Bewilder'd,  and  alone, 
A  heart,  with  English  instinct  fraught, 

He  yet  can  call  his  own. 
Ay !  tear  his  body  limb  from  limb  ; 

Bring  cord,  or  axe,  or  flame  ! — 
He  only  knows,  that  not  through  him 

Shall  England  come  to  shame. 
Far  Kentish  hopfields  round  him  seem'd 

Like  dreams  to  come  and  go  ; 
Bright  leagues  of  cherry-blossom  gleam'd, 

One  sheet  of  living  snow  : 
The  smoke  above  his  father's  door 

In  gray  soft  eddyings  hung  : — 
Must  he  then  watch  it  rise  no  more, 

Doom'd  by  himself,  so  young  ? 
Yes,  Honour  calls  ! — with  strength  like  steel 

He  put  the  vision  by  : 
Let  dusky  Indians  whine  and  kneel ; 

An  English  lad  must  die  ! 
And  thus,  with  eyes  that  would  not  shrink, 

With  knee  to  man  unbent, 
Unfaltering  on  its  dreadful  brink 

To  his  red  grave  he  went. 

— Vain,  mightiest  fleets  of  iron  framed  ; 

Vain,  those  all-shattering  guns  ; 
Unless  proud  England  keep,  untamed, 

The  strong  heart  of  her  sons  ! 
So,  let  his  name  through  Europe  ring — 

A  man  of  mean  estate 
Who  died,  as  firm  as  Sparta's  king, 

Because  his  soul  was  great. 

Sir  F.  H.  Doyh 

10  bewildered,  puzzled  n  full  of  true  English  feeling 

17  The  Buffs  are  the  East  Kent  Regiment         19  leagues,  miles 
26  vision,  thought  of  home  32  red,  bloody 

39  Leonidas,  who  died  at  Thermopylae 


of  English  Song  201 

*  26  * 

YOUNG  LOCHJNVAR 

O,  YOUNG  Lochinvar  is  come  out  of  the  West ! 
Through  all  the  wide  Border  his  steed  is  the  best ; 
And  save  his  good  broadswordhe  weapons  had  none; 
He  rode  all  unarm'd  and  he  rode  all  alone. 
So  faithful  in  love,  and  so  dauntless  in  war, 
There  never  was  knight  like  the  young  Lochinvar  ! 

He  stay'd  not  for  brake  and  he  stopp'd  not  for  stone  ; 
He  swam  the  Eske  river  where  ford  there  was  none  ; 
But  ere  he  alighted  at  Netherby  gate, 
The    bride    had    consented ;     the    gallant    came 

late ; 
For  a  laggard  in  love  and  a  dastard  in  war, 
Was  to  wed  the  fair  Ellen  of  brave  Lochinvar. 

So  boldly  he  entered  the  Netherby  Hall, 

Among  bridesmen  and  kinsmen  and  brothers  and 

all;  — 
Then    spoke  the  bride's    father,  his  hand    on  his 

sword, 
For  the  poor  craven  bridegroom  said  never  a  word, 
'  O  come  ye  in  peace  here,  or  come  ye  in  war, 
'  Or  to  dance  at  our  bridal,  young  Lord  Lochinvar  ? ' 

— '  I  long  woo'd  your  daughter,  my  suit  you  denied  ; 
'  Love  swells  like  the  Solway,  but   ebbs  like   its 

tide ; 
'  And  now  am  I  come  with  this  lost  Love  of  mine 
'  To  lead  but  one  measure,  drink  one  cup  of  wine. 
'  There  are  maidens  in  Scotland  more  lovely  by  far, 
'  That  would  gladly  be  bride  to  the  young  Lochinvar ! ' 

The  bride  kiss'd  the  goblet,  the  knight  took  it  up, 
He  quaffd  off  the  wine  and  he  threw  down  the  cup ; 

S  dauntless,  bold  19  suit,  courtship 


202  The  Children's  Treasury 

She  look'd  down  to  blush,  and  she  look'd  up  to  sigh, 
With  a  smile  on  her  lips  and  a  tear  in  her  eye  : — 
He  took  her  soft  hand  ere  her  mother  could  bar ; 
'Nowtreadweameasure! '  said  young  Lochinvar. 

So  stately  his  form,  and  so  lovely  her  face, 
That  never  a  hall  such  a  galliard  did  grace  : 
While  her  mother  did  fret  and  her  father  did  fume, 
And  the  bridegroom  stood  dangling  his  bonnet  and 

plume ; 
And  the  bride-maidens  whispered,  "Twere  better 

by  far 
1  To  have  match'd  our  fair  cousin  with  young  Lochin- 
var !' 

One  touch  to  her  hand  and  one  word  in  her  ear, 
When  they  reach'd  the  hall  door ;  and  the  charger 

stood  near  ; 
So  light  to  the  croupe  the  fair  lady  he  swung, 
So  light  to  the  saddle  before  her  he  sprung  ! 
'  She  is  won  !  we  are  gone,  over  bank,  bush  and 

scaur, 
'  They'll  have  fleet  steeds  that  follow  ! '  quoth  young 

Lochinvar. 

There  was  mounting  'mong  Graemes  of  the  Netherby 

clan  ; 
Forsters,  Fenwicks,  and  Musgraves,  they  rode  and 

they  ran  ; 
There  was  racing  and  chasing  on  Cannobie  lea ; 
But  the  lost  bride  of  Netherby  ne'er  did  they  see  : — 
So  daring  in  love,  and  so  dauntless  in  war, 
Have  ye  e'er  heard  of  gallant  like  young  Lochinvar  ? 

Sir  W.  Scott 

30  measure,  dance  32  galliard,  lively  dance 

38  charger,  war-horse  39  croupe,  hind-part 

41  scaiir,  broken  cliff-side  43  clan,  family 


of  English  Song  203 

*  27  * 

THE  MAID   OF  NEIDPATH 

O  lovers'  eyes  are  sharp  to  see, 

And  lovers'  ears  in  hearing  ; 
And  love,  in  life's  extremity, 

Can  lend  an  hour  of  cheering. 
Disease  had  been  in  Mary's  bower 

And  slow  decay  from  mourning, 
Though  now  she  sits  on  Neidpath's  tower 

To  watch  her  Love's  returning. 
All  sunk  and  dim  her  eyes  so  bright, 

Her  form  decay"  d  by  pining, 
Till  through  her  wasted  hand,  at  night, 

You  saw  the  taper  shining. 
By  fits  a  sultry  hectic  hue 

Across  her  cheek  was  flying  ; 
By  fits  so  ashy  pale  she  grew 

Her  maidens  thought  her  dying. 
Yet  keenest  powers  to  see  and  hear 

Seem'd  in  her  frame  residing  ; 
Before  the  watch-dog  prick'd  his  ear 

She  heard  her  lover's  riding  ; 
Ere  scarce  a  distant  form  was  kenn'd 

She  knew  and  waved  to  greet  him, 
And  o'er  the  battlement  did  bend 

As  on  the  wing  to  meet  him. 

He  came — he  pass'd — a  heedless  gaze 

As  o'er  some  stranger  glancing  ; 
Her  welcome,  spoke  in  faltering  phrase, 

Lost  in  his  courser's  prancing  : — 
The  castle-arch,  whose  hollow  tone 

Returns  each  whisper  spoken, 
Could  scarcely  catch  the  feeble  moan 

Which  told  her  heart  was  broken. 

Sir  W.  Scott 
13  hectic,  fitful  colour  of  consumption 


204  The  Children's  Treasury 

*  28  * 

ANNAN  WATER 

1  Annan  Water's  wading  deep, 

'And  my  Love  Annie's  wondrous  bonny  ; 

'  And  I  am  loath  she  should  wet  her  feet, 
'  Because  I  love  her  best  of  ony.' 

He's  loupen  on  his  bonny  gray, 

He  rode  the  right  gate  and  the  ready  ; 

For  all  the  storm  he  wadna  stay, 
For  seeking  of  his  bonny  lady. 

And  he  has  ridden  o'er  field  and  fell, 
Through  moor,  and  moss,  and  many  a  mire  ;  10 

His  spurs  of  steel  were  sair  to  bide, 
And  from  her  four  feet  flew  the  fire. 

'  My  bonny  gray,  now  play  your  part  ! 

'  If  ye  be  the  steed  that  wins  my  dearie, 
'  With  corn  and  hay  yell  be  fed  for  aye, 

'  And  never  spur  shall  make  you  wearie.' 

The  gray  was  a  mare,  and  a  right  gude  mare  ; 

But  when  she  wan  the  Annan  Water, 
She  could  not  have  ridden  the  ford  that  night 

Had  a  thousand  merks  been  wadded  at  her. 

'  O  boatman,  boatman,  put  off  your  boat, 
'  Put  off  your  boat  for  golden  money  ! ' 

But  for  all  the  gold  in  fair  Scotland, 

He  dared  not  take  him  through  to  Annie. 

'  O  I  was  sworn  so  late  yestreen, 

'  Not  by  a  single  oath,  but  mony  ! 
'  I'll  cross  the  drumly  stream  to-night, 

'  Or  never  could  I  face  my  honey.' 

5  loupen,  leaped 

6  gate,  way  n  sair,  hard  18  tvan,  reached 

ao  merks,  old  coin:  wadded  at,  betted  upon         27  drumly,  muc. 


of  English  Song  205 

The  side  was  stey,  and  the  bottom  deep, 
From  bank  to  brae  the  water  pouring  ; 

The  bonny  gray  mare  she  swat  for  fear, 
For  she  heard  the  water-kelpy  roaring. 

He  spurred  her  forth  into  the  flood, 

I  wot  she  swam  both  strong  and  steady  ; 
But  the  stream  was  broad,  and  her  strength  did 
fail, 
And  he  never  saw  his  bonny  lady  ! 

Unknown 

*  29  * 

THE  ROVER 

'  A  weary  lot  is  thine,  fair  maid, 

'  A  weary  lot  is  thine  ! 
'  To  pull  the  thorn  thy  brow  to  braid, 

'  /ind  press  the  rue  for  wine. 
'  A  lightsome  eye,  a  soldier's  mien, 

'  A  feather  of  the  blue, 
'  A  doublet  of  the  Lincoln  green — 

'  No  more  of  me  you  knew 

'  My  Love  ! 

'  No  more  of  me  you  knew. 

'  The  morn  is  merry  June,  I  trow, 

'  The  rose  is  budding  fain  ; 
'  But  she  shall  bloom  in  winter  snow 

'  Ere  we  two  meet  again.' 
He  turn'd  his  charger  as  he  spake 

Upon  the  river  shore, 
He  gave  the  bridle-reins  a  shake, 

Said  '  Adieu  for  evermore 

'  My  Love  ! 

'  And  adieu  for  evermore.' 

Sir  W.  Scott 

ag  stey,  steep  30  brae,  slope  32  kelpy,  spirit 

5  mien,  face,  air  12  fain,  gaily 


2o6  The  Children's  Treasury 

*  30* 

A   MORNING  SONG 

Pack,  clouds,  away,  and  welcome  day  : 

With  night  we  banish  sorrow  ; 
Sweet  air  blow  soft,  mount  larks  aloft, 

To  give  my  Love  good-morrow  ! 
Wings  from  the  wind  to  please  her  mind, 

Notes  from  the  lark  I'll  borrow  ; 
Bird  prune  thy  wing,  nightingale  sing, 

To  give  my  Love  good-morrow  ; 
To  give  my  Love  good-morrow 
Notes  from  them  both  I'll  borrow. 

Wake  from  thy  nest,  Robin-red-breast, 

Sing  birds  in  every  furrow  ; 
And  from  each  hill,  let  music  shrill 
Give  my  fair  Love  good-morrow  ! 
Blackbird  and  thrush  in  every  bush, 

Stare,  linnet,  and  cock-sparrow  ! 
You  pretty  elves,  amongst  yourselves 
Sing  my  fair  Love  good-morrow  ; 
To  give  my  Love  good-morrow 
Sing  birds  in  every  furrow  ! 

T.  Heyrwood 

*  31  * 

A    HAPPY  LIFE 

Under  the  greenwood  tree 
Who  loves  to  lie  with  me, 
And  tune  his  merry  note 
Unto  the  sweet  bird's  throat — 
Come  hither,  come  hither,  come  hither  ! 
Here  shall  he  see 
No  enemy 
But  winter  and  rough  weather. 

2  banish,  send  away  16  stare,  starling 

17  elves,  little  live  things 


of  English  Song  207 

Who  doth  ambition  shun, 
And  loves  to  live  i'  the  sun, 
Seeking  the  food  he  eats 
And  pleased  with  what  he  gets — 
Come  hither,  come  hither,  come  hither  ! 
Here  shall  he  see 
No  enemy 
But  winter  and  rough  weather. 

W.  Shakespeare 

*  32  * 
TO  BLOSSOMS 

Fair  pledges  of  a  fruitful  tree, 

Why  do  ye  fall  so  fast  ? 

Your  date  is  not  so  past, 
But  you  may  stay  yet  here  a  while 

To  blush  and  gently  smile, 
And  go  at  last 

What,  were  ye  born  to  be 

An  hour  or  half's  delight, 

And  so  to  bid  good-night  ? 
'Twas  pity  Nature  brought  ye  forth 

Merely  to  show  your  worth, 
And  lose  you  quite. 

But  you  are  lovely  leaves,  where  we 
May  read  how  soon  things  have 
Their  end,  though  ne'er  so  brave  : 
And  after  they  have  shown  their  pride 
Like  you,  a  while,  they  glide 
Into  the  grave. 

K.  Herrick 

g  ambition,  struggle  to  get  on  i  promises  of  fruit 

3  date,  time  15  brave,  brilliant  16  pride,  beauty 


208  The  Children's  Treasury 

*  33  * 

THE  DAFFODILS 

I  wander'd  lonely  as  a  cloud 

That  floats  on  high  o'er  vales  and  hills, 

When  all  at  once  I  saw  a  crowd, 

A  host  of  golden  daffodils, 

Beside  the  lake  beneath  the  trees 

Fluttering  and  dancing  in  the  breeze. 

Continuous  as  the  stars  that  shine 

And  twinkle  on  the  milky-way, 

They  stretch'd  in  never-ending  line 

Along  the  margin  of  a  bay  : 

Ten  thousand  saw  I  at  a  glance 

Tossing  their  heads  in  sprightly  dance. 

The  waves  beside  them  danced,  but  they 

Out-did  the  sparkling  waves  in  glee  : — 

A  Poet  could  not  but  be  gay 

In  such  a  jocund  company  ! 

I  gazed — and  gazed — but  little  thought 

What  wealth  the  show  to  me  had  brought ; 

For  oft,  when  on  my  couch  I  lie 

In  vacant  or  in  pensive  mood, 

They  flash  upon  that  inward  eye 

Which  is  the  bliss  of  solitude  ; 

And  then  my  heart  with  pleasure  fills, 

And  dances  with  the  daffodils. 

W.  Wordsworth 

>34* 

A   THANKSGIVING  TO  GOD,  FOR  HIS  HOUSE 

Lord,  thou  bast  given  me  a  cell, 
Wherein  to  dwell  ; 

A  little  house,  whose  humble  root 
Is  weather-proof; 

7  continuous,  close  together  10  margin,  edge 

18  -wealth,  benefit      20  idle  or  thoughtful     21  inward  eye,  thought 


of  English  Song  209 

Under  the  spars  of  which  I  lie 

Both  soft  and  dry  ; 
Where  thou,  my  chamber  for  to  ward, 

Hast  set  a  guard 
Of  harmless  thoughts,  to  watch  and  keep 

Me,  while  I  sleep. 
Low  is  my  porch,  as  is  my  fate  : 

Both  void  of  state  ; 
And  yet  the  threshold  of  my  door 

Is  worn  by  th'  poor, 
Who  thither  come,  and  freely  get 

Good  words,  or  meat. 
Like  as  my  parlour,  so  my  hall 

And  kitchen's  small ; 
A  little  buttery,  and  therein 

A  little  bin, 
Which  keeps  my  little  loaf  of  bread 

Unchipt,  unflead  ; 
Some  brittle  sticks  of  thorn  or  briar 

Make  me  a  fire, 
Close  by  whose  living  coal  I  sit, 

And  glow  like  it. 
Lord,  I  confess  too,  when  I  dine, 

The  pulse  is  thine, 
And  all  those  other  bits  that  be 

There  placed  by  thee  ; 
The  worts,  the  purslain,  and  the  mess 

Of  water-cress, 
Which  of  thy  kindness  thou  hast  sent ; 

And  my  content 
Makes  those,  and  my  beloved  beet, 

To  be  more  sweet. 
'Tis  thou  that  crown'st  my  glittering  hearth 

With  guiltless  mirth, 

S  spars,  timbers  ^  ward,  protect  iz  fate,  place  in  life 

12  state,  grandeur  22  un/lead,  unpared 

28  pulse,  pottage  31  purslain,  a  salad 

P 


io  The  Children 's  Treasury 

And  giv'st  me  wassail-bowls  to  drink, 

Spiced  to  the  brink. 
Lord,  'tis  thy  plenty-dropping  hand 

That  soils  my  land, 
And  giv'st  me,  for  my  bushel  sown, 

Twice  ten  for  one  ; 
Thou  mak'st  my  teeming  hen  to  lay 

Her  egg  each  day  ; 
Besides  my  healthful  ewes  to  bear 

Me  twins  each  year  ; 
The  while  the  conduits  of  my  kine 

Run  cream,  for  wine  : 
All  these,  and  better,  thou  dost  send 

Me, — to  this  end, 
That  I  should  render,  for  my  part, 

A  thankful  heart. 

R.  Herrich 

*35* 

SUNSHINE  AFTER  A  SHOWER 

Ever  after  summer  shower, 
When  the  bright  sun's  returning  power 
With  laughing  beam  has  chased  the  storm, 
And  cheer'd  reviving  Nature's  form, 
By  sweet-briar  hedges  bathed  in  dew, 
Let  me  my  wholesome  path  pursue  ; 
There,  issuing  forth,  the  frequent  snail 
Wears  the  dank  way  with  slimy  trail ; 
While  as  I  walk,  from  pearled  bush 
The  sunny,  sparkling  drop  I  brush ; 
And  all  the  landscape  fair  I  view 
Clad  in  robe  of  fresher  hue  ; 
And  so  loud  the  blackbird  sings, 
That  far  and  near  the  valley  rings. 

39  wassail-bowls,  cups  of  old  ale  42  soils,  manures 

49  conduits,  udders  8  dank,  moist :  trail,  track 


of  English  Song  21 1 

From  shelter  deep  of  shaggy  rock 
The  shepherd  drives  his  joyful  flock  ; 
From  bowering  beech  the  mower  blithe 
With  new-born  vigour  grasps  the  scythe  ; 
While  o'er  the  smooth  unbounded  meads 
His  last  faint  gleam  the  rainbow  spreads. 

T.    Warton 

*  36  * 
THE  HOCK-CART,  OR  HARVEST-HOME 

Come,  sons  of  summer,  by  whose  toil 
We  are  the  lords  of  wine  and  oil  ; 
By  whose  tough  labours  and  rough  hands, 
We  rip  up  first,  then  reap  our  lands. 
Crown'd  with  the  ears  of  corn,  now  come, 
And,  to  the  pipe,  sing  Harvest  Home  ! 
Come  forth,  my  lord,  and  see  the  cart 
Drest  up  with  all  the  country  art  : — 
See,  here  a  maukin,  there  a  sheet, 
As  spotless  pure  as  it  is  sweet ; 
The  horses,  mares,  and  frisking  fillies, 
Clad  all  in  linen  white  as  lilies  : — 
The  harvest  swains  and  wenches  bound 
For  joy,  to  see  the  hock-cart  crown'd. 

About  the  cart  hear  how  the  rout 
Of  rural  younglings  raise  the  shout, 
Pressing  before,  some  coming  after, 
Those  with  a  shout,  and  these  with  laughter. 
Some  bless  the  cart,  some  kiss  the  sheaves, 
Some  prank  them  up  with  oaken  leaves  ; 
Some  cross  the  fill-horse,  some  with  great 
Devotion  stroke  the  home-borne  wheat ; 
While  other  rustics,  less  attent 

18  vigour,  strength  7  lord,  the  Earl  of  Westmorland 

9  maukin,  coarse  cloth         14  hock-cart,  last  from  harvest-field 
21  Jill,  shaft-horse  23  attent,  eager 

P  2 


212  The  Children's  Treasury 

To  prayers  than  to  merriment, 
Run  after  with  their  breeches  rent. 

Well,  on,  brave  boys,  to  your  lord's  hearth, 
Glitt'ring  with  fire,  where,  for  your  mirth, 
Ye  shall  see  first  the  large  and  chief 
Foundation  of  your  feast,  fat  beef  ! 
With  upper  stories,  mutton,  veal, 
And  bacon,  which  makes  full  the  meal  ; 
With  sev'ral  dishes  standing  by, 
As,  here  a  custard,  there  a  pie, 
And  here  all-tempting  frumenty. 
And  for  to  make  the  merry  cheer, 
If  smirking  wine  be  wanting  here, 
There's  that,  which  drowns  all  care,  stout  beer ; 
Which  freely  drink  to  your  lord's  health, 
Then  to  the  plough,  the  commonwealth, 
Next  to  your  flails,  your  fanes,  your  fatts  ; 
Then  to  the  maids  with  wheaten  hats  ; 
To  the  rough  sickle,  and  crook't  scythe, 
Drink,  frolick,  boys,  till  all  be  blythe. 
Feed  and  grow  fat,  and  as  ye  eat, 
Be  mindful  that  the  lab'ring  neat, 
As  you,  may  have  their  fill  of  meat ; 
And  know,  besides,  ye  must  revoke 
The  patient  ox  unto  the  yoke, 
And  all  go  back  unto  the  plough 
And  harrow,  though  they're  hanged  up  now. 
And,  you  must  know,  your  lord's  word's  true, 
Feed  him  ye  must,  whose  food  fills  you  : 
And  that  this  pleasure  is  like  rain, 
Not  sent  ye  for  to  drown  your  pain, 
But  for  to  make  it  spring  again. 

R.  Herrick 

40  fanes,  apparently  weathercocks :  fatts,  casks 
41  wheaten,  straw  45  neat,  oxen  47  revoke,  call  back 


of  English  Song  2 1 3 

*37* 

THE  FIRST  SWALLOW 

THE  gorse  is  yellow  on  the  heath  ; 
The  banks  with  speedwell  flowers  are  gay  ; 
The  oaks  are  budding,  and  beneath, 
The  hawthorn  soon  will  bear  the  wreath, 

The  silver  wreath  of  May. 
The  welcome  guest  of  settled  spring, 
The  swallow,  too,  is  come  at  last  ; 
Just  at  sunset,  when  thrushes  sing, 
i  saw  her  dash  with  rapid  wing, 

And  hail'd  her  as  she  past. 
Come,  summer  visitant,  attach 
To  my  reed  roof  your  nest  of  clay, 
And  let  my  ear  your  music  catch, 
Low  twittering  underneath  the  thatch, 

At  the  gray  dawn  of  day. 

C.  Smith 

*38* 

TO  A  REDBREAST 

Little  bird,  with  bosom  red, 
Welcome  to  my  humble  shed  ! 
Courtly  domes  of  high  degree 
Have  no  room  for  thee  and  me  ; 
Pride  and  pleasure's  fickle  throng 
Nothing  mind  an  idle  song. 
Daily  near  my  table  steal, 
While  I  pick  my  scanty  meal  : — 
Doubt  not  little  though  there  be, 
But  I'll  cast  a  crumb  to  thee  ; 
Well  rewarded,  if  I  spy 
Pleasure  in  thy  glancing  eye  ; 
See  thee,  when  thou'st  eat  thy  fill, 
Plume  thy  breast,  and  wipe  thy  bill. 

3  domes,  houses        5  the  changeable  crowd  of  proud  and  idle  people 
14  plume,  trim 


214  The  Children's  Treasury 

Come,  my  feather'd  friend,  again  ! 
Well  thou  know'st  the  broken  pane  : — 
Ask  of  me  thy  daily  store  ; 
Go  not  near  Avaro's  door  ; 
Once  within  his  iron  hall, 
Woful  end  shall  thee  befall. 
Savage  ! — he  would  soon  divest 
Of  its  rosy  plumes  thy  breast ; 
Then,  with  solitary  joy, 
Eat  thee,  bones  and  all,  my  boy  ! 

y.  Langhorne 

*39* 

TO  THE  SKYLARK 

ETHEREAL  minstrel  !  pilgrim  of  the  sky  ! 
Dost  thou  despise  the  earth  where  cares  abound? 
Or  while  the  wings  aspire,  are  heart  and  eye 
Both  with  thy  nest  upon  the  dewy  ground  ? 
Thy  nest  which  thou  canst  drop  into  at  will, 
Those  quivering  wings  composed,  that  music  still  ! 
To  the  last  point  of  vision,  and  beyond, 
Mount,  daring  warbler  ! — that  love-prompted  strain 
— 'Twixt  thee  and  thine  a  never-failing  bond — 
Thrills  not  the  less  the  bosom  of  the  plain  : 
Yet  mightst  thou  seem,  proud  privilege  !  to  sing 
All  independent  of  the  leafy  spring. 
Leave  to  the  nightingale  her  shady  wood  ; 
A  privacy  of  glorious  light  is  thine, 
Whence  thou  dost  pour  upon  the  world  a  flood 
Of  harmony,  with  instinct  more  divine  ; 
Type  of  the  wise,  who  soar,  but  never  roam — 
True  to  the  kindred  points  of  Heaven  and  Home. 

W.   Wordsworth 

18  Avaro,  man  too  fond  of  money  :  here,  perhaps,  a  fierce  dog 

19  iron,  cruel  21  divest,  take  off  1  singer  of  the 
air,  and  wanderer  through  the  sky                            3  aspire,  mount 

8  prompted,  caused  by  12  without  waiting  for  the  leaves,  like 

most  birds  14  privacy,  solitude  17  type,  figure 


of  English  Song  215 

*  40  * 

THE  LAST  OF  THE  FLOCK 

In  distant  countries  have  I  been, 
And  yet  I  have  not  often  seen 
A  healthy  man,  a  man  full  grown, 
Weep  in  the  public  roads  alone ; 
But  such  a  one,  on  English  ground, 
And  in  the  broad  highway  I  met ; 
Along  the  broad  highway  he  came, 
His  cheeks  with  tears  were  wet  ; 
Sturdy  he  seem'd,  though  he  was  sad , 
And  in  his  arms  a  lamb  he  had. 

He  saw  me,  and  he  turn'd  aside, 

As  if  he  wish'd  himself  to  hide  : 

And  with  his  coat  did  then  essay 

To  wipe  those  briny  tears  away. 

I  follow'd  him  and  said,  '  My  friend, 

'  What  ails  you  ?  wherefore  weep  you  so  ? ' 

— '  Shame  on  me,  sir  !  this  lusty  lamb, 

'  He  makes  my  tears  to  flow. 
'  To-day  I  fetch'd  him  from  the  rock  ; 
'  He  is  the  last  of  all  my  flock. 

'  When  I  was  young,  a  single  man, 

'  And  after  youthful  follies  ran, 

'  Though  little  given  to  care  and  thought, 

'  Yet  so  it  was,  an  ewe  I  bought  ; 

'  And  other  sheep  from  her  I  raised, 

'  As  healthy  sheep  as  you  might  see  ; 

'  And  then  I  married,  and  was  rich 

'  As  I  could  wish  to  be  ; 
'  Of  sheep  I  number'd  a  full  score, 
'  And  every  year  increased  my  store. 

'  Year  after  year  my  stock  it  grew  ; 
'  And  from  this  one,  this  single  ewe, 


216  The  Children's  Treasury 

1  Full  fifty  comely  sheep  I  raised, 

'  As  fine  a  flock  as  ever  grazed  ! 

'  Upon  the  Quantock  Hills  they  fed  ; 

'  They  throve,  and  we  at  home  did  thrive  : 

— '  This  lusty  lamb  of  all  my  store 

'  Is  all  that  is  alive  ; 
'And  now  I  care  not  if  we  die, 
'  And  perish  all  of  poverty. 

'  Six  children,  sir,  had  I  to  feed  ; 

'  Hard  labour,  in  a  time  of  need  ! 

'  My  pride  was  tamed,  and  in  our  grief, 

'  I  of  the  parish  ask'd  relief ; 

'  They  said  I  was  a  wealthy  man, 

'  My  sheep  upon  the  uplands  fed, 

'  And  it  was  fit  that  thence  I  took 

'  Whereof  to  buy  us  bread. 
'Do  this;  how  cati  we  give  to  you, 
1  They  cried,  what  to  the  poor  is  due  ? 

1  I  sold  a  sheep  as  they  had  said, 

'  And  bought  my  little  children  bread, 

'  And  they  were  healthy  with  their  food  : 

'  For  me— it  never  did  me  good. 

'  A  woful  time  it  was  for  me, 

'  To  see  the  end  of  all  my  gains, 

'  The  pretty  flock  which  I  had  rearM 

'  With  all  my  care  and  pains, 
'  To  see  it  melt  like  snow  away — 
'  For  me  it  was  a  woful  day  ! 

'  Another  still !  and  still  another  ! 

'  A  little  lamb,  and  then  its  mother  ! 

'  It  was  a  vein  that  never  stopp'd — 

'  Like  blood-drops  from  my  heart  they  dropp'd 

'  Till  thirty  were  not  left  alive  ; 

'  They  dwindled,  dwindled,  one  by  one  ; 


of  English  Song  217 

'  And  I  may  say  that  many  a  time 

'  I  wish'd  they  all  were  gone  ; 
'  Reckless  of  what  might  come  at  last, 
'  Were  but  the  bitter  struggle  past. 

'  To  wicked  deeds  I  was  inclined, 
'  And  wicked  fancies  cross'd  my  mind  ; 
'  And  every  man  I  chanced  to  see, 
'  I  thought  he  knew  some  ill  of  me. 
'  No  peace,  no  comfort  could  I  find, 
'  No  ease  within  doors  or  without ; 
1  And  crazily  and  wearily 

'  I  went  my  work  about  : 
'  And  oft  was  moved  to  flee  from  home 
'  And  hide  my  head  where  wild  beasts  roam. 

'  Sir,  'twas  a  precious  flock  to  me, 
'  As  dear  as  my  own  children  be ; 
'  For  daily  with  my  growing  store 
'  I  loved  my  children  more  and  more. 
'  Alas  !  it  was  an  evil  time  ; 
'  God  cursed  me  in  my  sore  distress  ; 
'  I  prayed,  yet  every  day  I  thought 

'  I  loved  my  children  less  ; 
'  And  every  week,  and  every  day, 
'  My  flock  it  seem'd  to  melt  away. 

'  They  dwindled,  sir,  sad  sight  to  see  ! 

'  From  ten  to  five,  from  five  to  three, 

'  A  lamb,  a  wether,  and  a  ewe  ; 

'  And  then  at  last  from  three  to  two  ; 

'  And,  of  my  fifty,  yesterday 

'  I  had  but  only  one  : 

'  And  here  it  lies  upon  my  arm — 

'  Alas,  and  I  have  none  ; 
1  To-day  I  fetch'd  it  from  the  rock — 
'  It  is  the  last  of  all  my  flock  ! ' 

W.  Wordsworth 


218  The  Children's  Treasury 

*  41  * 

THE  SHEPHERD  IN  WINTER 

When  red  hath  set  the  beamless  sun, 
Through  heavy  vapours  dark  and  dun  ; 
When  the  tired  ploughman,  dry  and  warm, 
Hears,  half-asleep,  the  rising  storm 
Hurling  the  hail,  and  sleeted  rain, 
Against  the  casement's  tinkling  pane  ; 
— The  sounds  that  drive  wild  deer,  and  fox, 
To  shelter  in  the  brake  and  rocks, 
Are  warnings  which  the  shepherd  ask 
To  dismal  and  to  dangerous  task  ! 
Oft  he  looks  forth,  and  hopes,  in  vain, 
The  blast  may  sink  in  mellowing  rain  ; 
Till,  dark  above,  and  white  below, 
Decided  drives  the  flaky  snow, 
And  forth  the  hardy  swain  must  go. 

Long,  with  dejected  look  and  whine, 

To  leave  the  hearth  his  dogs  repine  ; 

Whistling  and  cheering  them  to  aid, 

Around  his  back  he  wreathes  the  plaid ; 

His  flock  he  gathers,  and  he  guides 

To  open  downs,  and  mountain-sides, 

Where  fiercest  though  the  tempest  blow, 

Least  deeply  lies  the  drift  below. 

The  blast,  that  whistles  o'er  the  fells, 

Stiffens  his  locks  to  icicles  ; 

Oft  he  looks  back,  while  streaming  far, 

His  cottage  window  seems  a  star, — 

Loses  its  feeble  gleam, — and  then 

Turns  patient  to  the  blast  again, 

And,  facing  to  the  tempest's  sweep, 

Drives  through  the  gloom  his  lagging  sheep. 

If  fails  his  heart,  if  his  limbs  fail, 

Benumbing  death  is  in  the  gale : 

24  fells,  moors,  high  open  ground 


of  English  Song  219 

His  paths,  his  landmarks,  all  unknown, 
Close  to  the  hut,  no  more  his  own, 
Close  to  the  aid  he  sought  in  vain, 
The  morn  may  find  the  stiffen'd  swain  : 
The  widow  sees,  at  dawning  pale, 
His  orphans  raise  their  feeble  wail ; 
And,  close  beside  him,  in  the  snow, 
Poor  Yarrow,  partner  of  their  woe, 
Couches  upon  his  master's  breast, 
And  licks  his  cheek  to  break  his  rest. 

Sir   W.  Scott 

*  42  * 

THE  DOG  AND  THE  WATER-LILY 

The  noon  was  shady,  and  soft  airs 

Swept  Ouse's  silent  tide, 
When,  'scaped  from  literary  cares, 

I  wander'd  on  his  side. 

My  spaniel,  prettiest  of  his  race, 

And  high  in  pedigree, — 
(Two  nymphs  adorn'd  with  every  grace 

That  spaniel  found  for  me,) 

Now  wanton'd  lost  in  flags  and  reeds, 

Now,  starting  into  sight, 
Pursued  the  swallow  o'er  the  meads 

With  scarce  a  slower  flight. 

It  was  the  time  when  Ouse  displa/d 

His  lilies  newly  blown  ; 
Their  beauties  I  intent  surve/d, 

And  one  I  wish'd  my  own. 
With  cane  extended  far  I  sought 

To  steer  it  close  to  land ; 
But  still  the  prize,  though  nearly  caught, 

Escaped  my  eager  hand. 

3  literary  cares,  studying  and  writing  6  of  a  good  breed 

7  nymplis.  girls  15  intent,  attentively 


220  The  Children 's  Treasury 

Beau  mark'd  my  unsuccessful  pains 

With  fix'd  considerate  face, 
And  puzzling  set  his  puppy  brains 

To  comprehend  the  case. 

But  with  a  cherup  clear  and  strong 

Dispersing  all  his  dream, 
I  thence  withdrew,  and  follow'd  long 

The  windings  of  the  stream. 

My  ramble  ended,  I  return'd  ; 

Beau,  trotting  far  before, 
The  floating  wreath  again  discern'd, 

And  plunging  left  the  shore. 

I  saw  him  with  that  lily  cropp'd 

Impatient  swim  to  meet 
My  quick  approach,  and  soon  he  dropp'd 

The  treasure  at  my  feet. 

Charmed  with  the  sight,  '  The  world,'  I  cried 

'  Shall  hear  of  this  thy  deed  ; 
'  My  dog  shall  mortify  the  pride 

'  Of  man's  superior  breed  ; 

'  But  chief  myself  I  will  enjoin, 

'  Awake  at  duty's  call, 
'  To  show  a  love  as  prompt  as  thine 

'To  Him  who  gives  me  all.' 

W.  Cow  per 

*43* 

TO  A  FIELD  MOUSE 

WEE,  sleekit,  cow'rin',  tim'rous  beastie, 
O  what  a  panic's  in  thy  breastie  ! 
Thou  need  na  start  awa  sae  hasty, 
Wi'  bickering  brattle  ! 

24  comprehend,  make  out  26  dream,  thinking 

39  mortify,  take  down  41  enjoin,  remind 
1  sleekit,  sleek  2  panic,  sudden  fear 

3  na,  not  4  bickering  brattle,  flittering  race 


of  English  Song  221 

I  wad  be  laith  to  rin  and  chase  thee 
Wi'  murd'ring  pattle  ! 

I'm  truly  sorry  man's  dominion 
Has  broken  Nature's  social  union, 
And  justifies  that  ill  opinion 

Which  makes  thee  startle 
At  me,  thy  poor  earth-born  companion, 

And  fellow-mortal ! 

I  doubt  na,  whyles,  but  thou  may  thieve  ; 
What  then  ?  poor  beastie,  thou  maun  live  ! 
A  daimen  icker  in  a  thrave 

's  a  sma'  request : 
I'll  get  a  blessin'  wi'  the  lave, 

And  never  miss't  ! 

Thy  wee  bit  housie,  too,  in  ruin  ! 
Its  silly  wa's  the  win's  are  strewin'  : 
And  naething,  now,  to  big  a  new  ane, 

O'  foggage  green  ! 
And  bleak  December's  winds  ensuin,' 

Baith  snell  and  keen  ! 

Thou  saw  the  fields  laid  bare  and  waste, 
And  weary  winter  coming  fast  ; 
And  cozie  here,  beneath  the  blast, 

Thou  thought  to  dwell, 
Till,  crash  !  the  cruel  coulter  past 

Out  thro'  thy  cell. 

That  wee  bit  heap  o'  leaves  and  stibble 
Has  cost  thee  mony  a  weary  nibble  ! 

5  laith,  loath  :  rin,  run  6  pattle,  ploughstaff 

7  man's  cruelty  to  animals  13  whyles,  at  times 

14  «?■  un,  must  15  a  corn-ear  now  and  then  from  a  double  shock 

17  lave,  rest  20  wa's,  walls  21  big,  build 

22  foggage,  after-grass  23  ensuing,  following 

24  snell,  biting        29  coulter,  plough-iron         30  cell,  nest 


222  The  Children's  Treasury 

Now  thou's  turn'd  out  for  a'  thy  trouble 

But  house  or  hald, 
To  thole  the  winter's  sleety  dribble 

And  cranreuch  cauld  ! 

But,  Mousie,  thou  art  no  thy  lane 
In  proving  foresight  may  be  vain  : 
The  best  laid  schemes  o'  mice  and  men 

Gang  aft  a-gley, 
And  lea'e  us  nought  but  grief  and  pain, 

For  promised  joy. 

Still  thou  art  blest,  compared  wi'  me  ! 
The  present  only  toucheth  thee  : 
But,  och  !  I  backward  cast  my  e'e 

On  prospects  drear  ! 
And  forward,  tho'  I  canna  see, 

I  guess  and  fear. 

R.  Burns 

*  44* 

THE  WORM 

TURN,  turn  thy  hasty  foot  aside, 
Nor  crush  that  helpless  worm  ! 

The  frame  thy  wayward  looks  deride 
Required  a  God  to  form. 

The  common  lord  of  all  that  move, 

From  whom  thy  being  fiow'd, 
A  portion  of  His  boundless  love 

On  that  poor  worm  bestow'd. 

The  sun,  the  moon,  the  stars,  He  made 

For  all  His  creatures  free  ; 
And  spread  o'er  earth  the  grassy  blade, 

For  worms  as  well  as  thee. 

34  but  hald,  without  dwelling-place  35  thole,  bear 

36  cranreuch,  hoarfrost  37  thy  lane,  alone 

39  schemes,  plans  40  often  go  awry  41  lea'e,  leave 


of  English  Song  223 

Let  them  enjoy  their  little  day, 

Their  humble  bliss  receive  ; 
O  !  do  not  lightly  take  away 

The  life  thou  canst  not  give  ! 

T.  Gisbome 

*45  * 

THE  GIRL  DESCRIBES  HER  FA  WN 

With  sweetest  milk  and  sugar  first 

I  it  at  my  own  fingers  nursed  ; 

And  as  it  grew,  so  every  day 

It  wax'd  more  white  and  sweet  than  they — : 

It  had  so  sweet  a  breath  !  and  oft 

I  blush'd  to  see  its  foot  more  soft 

And  white, — shall  I  say, — than  my  hand  ? 

Nay,  any  lady's  of  the  land  ! 

It  is  a  wondrous  thing  how  fleet 
'Twas  on  those  little  silver  feet  : 
With  what  a  pretty  skipping  grace 
It  oft  would  challenge  me  the  race  : — 
And  when  't  had  left  me  far  away 
'Twould  stay,  and  run  again,  and  stay  : 
For  it  was  nimbler  much  than  hinds, 
And  trod  as  if  on  the  four  winds. 

I  have  a  garden  of  my  own, 

But  so  with  roses  overgrown 

And  lilies,  that  you  would  it  guess 

To  be  a  little  wilderness  : 

And  all  the  spring-time  of  the  year 

It  only  love"d  to  be  there. 

Among  the  beds  of  lilies  I 

Have  sought  it  oft,  where  it  should  lie  5 

Yet  could  not,  till  itself  would  rise, 

Find  it,  although  before  mine  eyes  : — 

For  in  the  flaxen  lilies'  shade 

It  like  a  bank  of  lilies  laid. 

24  should,  might 


224  The  Children's  Treasury 

Upon  the  roses  it  would  feed, 
Until  its  lips  e'en  seem'd  to  bleed : 
And  then  to  me  'twould  boldly  trip, 
And  print  those  roses  on  my  lip. 
But  all  its  chief  delight  was  still 
On  roses  thus  itself  to  fill, 
And  its  pure  virgin  limbs  to  fold 
In  whitest  sheets  of  lilies  cold  : — 
Had  it  lived  long,  it  would  have  been 
Lilies  without, — roses  within. 

A.  Marvell 


*  46* 

THE  CHILD  AND  THE  SNAKE 

HENRY  was  every  morning  fed 

With  a  full  mess  of  milk  and  bread. 

One  day  the  boy  his  breakfast  took, 

And  ate  it  by  a  purling  brook. 

His  mother  lets  him  have  his  way. 

With  free  leave  Henry  every  day 

Thither  repairs,  until  she  heard 

Him  talking  of  a  fine  gray  bird. 

This  pretty  bird,  he  said,  indeed, 

Came  every  day  with  him  to  feed  ; 

And  it  loved  him  and  loved  his  milk, 

And  it  was  smooth  and  soft  like  silk. 

— On  the  next  morn  she  follows  Harry, 

And  carefully  she  sees  him  carry 

Through  the  long  grass  his  heap'd-up  mess. 

What  was  her  terror  and  distress 

When  she  saw  the  infant  take 

His  bread  and  milk  close  to  a  snake  ! 

Upon  the  grass  he  spreads  his  feast, 

And  sits  down  by  his  frightful  guest, 


of  English  Song  225 

Who  had  waited  for  the  treat ; 

And  now  they  both  began  to  eat. 

Fond  mother  !  shriek  not,  O  beware 

The  least  small  noise,  O  have  a  care — 

The  least  small  noise  that  may  be  made 

The  wily  snake  will  be  afraid — 

If  he  hear  the  slightest  sound, 

He  will  inflict  th'  envenom'd  wound. 

— She  speaks  not,  moves  not,  scarce  does  breathe, 

As  she  stands  the  trees  beneath. 

No  sound  she  utters  ;  and  she  soon 

Sees  the  child  lift  up  his  spoon, 

And  tap  the  snake  upon  the  head, 

Fearless  of  harm  ;  and  then  he  said, 

As  speaking  to  familiar  mate, 

'  Keep  on  your  own  side,  do,  Gray  Pate  ; ' 

The  snake  then  to  the  other  side, 

As  one  rebuke'd,  seems  to  glide  ; 

And  now  again  advancing  nigh, 

Again  she  hears  the  infant  cry, 

Tapping  the  snake,  '  Keep  further,  do  ; 

'  Mind,  Gray  Pate,  what  I  say  to  you.' 

The  danger's  o'er  !  she  sees  the  boy 

(O  what  a  change  from  fear  to  joy  !) 

Rise  and  bid  the  snake  '  Good-bye ' ; 

Says  he,  '  Our  breakfast's  done,  and  I 

1  Will  come  again  to-morrow  day '  ; 

— Then,  lightly  tripping,  ran  away. 

M.  Lamb 

THE  TRA  VELLER'S  RETURN 

Sweet  to  the  morning  traveller 

The  song  amid  the  sky, 
Where,  twinkling  in  the  dewy  light, 

The  skylark  soars  on  high. 

Q 


226  The  Children's  Treasury 

And  cheering  to  the  traveller 
The  gales  that  round  him  play, 

When  faint  and  heavily  he  drags 
Along  his  noontide  way. 

And  when  beneath  the  unclouded  sun 

Full  wearily  toils  he, 
The  flowing  water  makes  to  him 

A  soothing  melody. 

And  when  the  evening  light  decays, 

And  all  is  calm  around, 
There  is  sweet  music  to  his  ear 

In  the  distant  sheep-bell's  sound. 

But  O !  of  all  delightful  sounds 

Of  evening  or  of  morn, 
The  sweetest  is  the  voice  of  love 

That  welcomes  his  return. 

R.  Southey 

*  48  * 

A  FAREWELL 

Go  fetch  to  me  a  pint  o'  wine, 

And  fill  it  in  a  silver  tassie ; 
That  I  may  drink  before  I  go 

A  service  to  my  bonnie  lassie : 
The  boat  rocks  at  the  pier  of  Leith, 

Fu'  loud  the  wind  blaws  frae  the  Ferry, 
The  ship  rides  by  the  Berwick-law, 

And  I  maun  leave  my  bonnie  Mary. 

The  trumpets  sound,  the  banners  fly, 
The  glittering  spears  are  ranked  ready ; 

The  shouts  o'  war  are  heard  afar, 
The  battle  closes  thick  and  bloody  : 

2  tassie,  cup  4  a  science,  a  health  8  maun,  must 


of  English  Song  iz'j 

But  it's  not  the  roar  o'  sea  or  shore 
Wad  make  me  langer  wish  to  tarry ; 

Nor  shouts  o'  war  that's  heard  afar — 
It's  leaving  thee,  my  bonnie  Mary. 

R.  Burns 

*  49  * 

ABSENCE 

When  I  think  on  the  happy  days 

I  spent  wi'  you,  my  dearie  ; 
And  now  what  lands  between  us  lie, 

How  can  I  be  but  eerie  ! 

How  slow  ye  move,  ye  heavy  hours, 

As  ye  were  wae  and  weary ! 
It  was  na  sae  ye  glinted  by 

When  I  was  wi'  my  dearie. 

Unknown 

*  50  * 

TO  ALTHEA  FROM  PRISON 

When  Love  with  unconfined  wings 

Hovers  within  my  gates, 
And  my  divine  Althea  brings 

To  whisper  at  the  grates ; 
When  I  lie  tangled  in  her  hair, 

And  fetter'd  to  her  eye, 
The  birds  that  wanton  in  the  air 

Know  no  such  liberty. 

When  flowing  cups  run  swiftly  round 

With  no  allaying  Thames, 
Our  careless  heads  with  roses  crown'd, 

Our  hearts  with  loyal  flames  : 

4  eerie,  in  low  spirits  6  As  ye,  as  if;  wae,  sad 

7  na,  not  ;  glinted,  went  brightly 

3  Altfiea,  his  lady-love  10  with  no  water  in  the  wine 

12  flames,  feelings 

Q  2 


228  The  Children's  Treasury 

When  thirsty  grief  in  wine  we  steep, 
When  healths  and  draughts  go  free — 

Fishes  that  tipple  in  the  deep 
Know  no  such  liberty. 

When,  linnet-like  confined,  I 

With  shriller  throat  shall  sing 
The  sweetness,  mercy,  majesty 

And  glories  of  my  King  ; 
When  I  shall  voice  aloud  how  good 

He  is,  how  great  should  be, 
Enlarged  winds  that  curl  the  flood 

Know  no  such  liberty. 

Stone  walls  do  not  a  prison  make, 

Nor  iron  bars  a  cage  ; 
Minds  innocent  and  quiet  take 

That  for  an  hermitage  : 
If  I  have  freedom  in  my  love, 

And  in  my  soul  am  free, 
Angels  alone,  that  soar  above, 

Enjoy  such  liberty. 

Colonel  Lovelace 

*5i* 

THE  FORSAKEN 

Thou  hast  left  me  ever,  Jamie, 

Thou  hast  left  me  ever  ; 
Thou  hast  left  me  ever,  Jamie, 

Thou  hast  left  me  ever. 
Aften  hast  thou  vow'd  that  death 

Only  should  us  sever  ; 
Now  thou'st  left  thy  lass  for  aye — 

I  maun  see  thee  never,  Jamie, 
I'll  see  thee  never  ! 

20  King,  Charles  I.  28  a  prison  for  a  place  of  rest 

2  ever,  for  ever 


of  English  Song  229 

Thou  hast  me  forsaken,  Jamie, 

Thou  hast  me  forsaken  ; 
Thou  hast  me  forsaken,  Jamie, 

Thou  hast  me  forsaken. 
Thou  canst  love  anither  jo, 

While  my  heart  is  breaking  ; 
Soon  my  weary  e'en  I'll  close — 

Never  mair  to  waken,  Jamie, 
Ne'er  mair  to  waken  ! 

R.  Burns 

*52* 
THE  BRAES  OF  YARROW 

Thy  braes  were  bonny,  Yarrow  stream, 
When  first  on  them  I  met  my  lover  ; 
Thy  braes,  how  dreary,  Yarrow  stream, 
Wb.en  now  thy  waves  his  body  cover  ! 
For  ever  now,  O  Yarrow  stream  ! 
Thou  art  to  me  a  stream  of  sorrow ; 
For  never  on  thy  banks  shall  I 
Behold  my  Love,  the  flower  of  Yarrow. 

He  promised  me  a  milk-white  steed 

To  bear  me  to  his  father's  bowers  ; 

He  promised  me  a  little  page 

To  squire  me  to  his  father's  towers  ; 

He  promised  me  a  wedding-ring, — 

The  wedding-day  was  fix'd  to-morrow  ; — 

Now  he  is  wedded  to  his  grave, 

Alas,  his  watery  grave,  in  Yarrow  ! 

Sweet  were  his  words  when  last  we  met ; 
My  passion  I  as  freely  told  him  ; 
Clasp'd  in  his  arms,  I  little  thought 
That  I  should  never  more  behold  him  ! 

14  jo,  sweetheart  16  e'en,  eyes 

1  braes,  sloping  sides  12  squire,  go  with  and  guard 


230  The  Children's  Treasury 

Scarce  was  he  gone,  I  saw  his  ghost  ; 
It  vanish'd  with  a  shriek  of  sorrow  ; 
Thrice  did  the  water-wraith  ascend, 
And  gave  a  doleful  groan  thro'  Yarrow. 

His  mother  from  the  window  look'd 
With  all  the  longing  of  a  mother ; 
His  little  sister  weeping  walk'd 
The  green-wood  path  to  meet  her  brother ; 
They  sought  him  east,  they  sought  him  west, 
They  sought  him  all  the  forest  thorough  ; 
They  only  saw  the  cloud  of  night, 
They  only  heard  the  roar  of  Yarrow. 

No  longer  from  thy  window  look — 
Thou  hast  no  son,  thou  tender  mother ! 
No  longer  walk,  thou  lovely  maid  ; 
Alas,  thou  hast  no  more  a  brother  ! 
No  longer  seek  him  east  or  west 
And  search  no  more  the  forest  thorough  ; 
For,  wandering  in  the  night  so  dark, 
He  fell  a  lifeless  corpse  in  Yarrow. 

The  tear  shall  never  leave  my  cheek, 
No  other  youth  shall  be  my  marrow — 
I'll  seek  thy  body  in  the  stream, 
And  then  with  thee  I'll  sleep  in  Yarrow. 
— The  tear  did  never  leave  her  cheek, 
No  other  youth  became  her  marrow  ; 
She  found  his  body  in  the  stream, 
And  now  with  him  she  sleeps  in  Yarrow. 

y.  Logan 

23  wraith,  ghost  of  person  about  to  die  42  marrow,  mate 


of  English  Song  231 

*53* 

ADAM  OF  GORDON 

It  fell  about  the  Martinmas, 

When  the  wind  blew  shrill  and  cold, 

Said  Adam  of  Gordon  to  his  men, 
'  We  maun  draw  to  a  hold. 

'  And  whatna  hold  shall  we  draw  to, 

'  My  merry  men  and  me  ? 
'  We  will  go  to  the  house  of  Rodes, 

'  To  see  that  fair  ladye.' 

The  lady  stood  on  her  castle  wall ; 

Beheld  both  dale  and  down  ; 
There  she  was  aware  of  a  host  of  men 

Came  riding  towards  the  town. 

'  O  see  ye  not,  my  merry  men  all, 

'  O  see  ye  not  what  I  see  ? 
'  Methinks  I  see  a  host  of  men  : 

'  I  marvel  who  they  be.' 

She  had  no  sooner  buskit  herself, 

And  putten  on  her  gown, 
Till  Adam  of  Gordon  and  his  men 

Were  round  about  the  town. 

The  lady  ran  to  her  tower-head, 

As  fast  as  she  could  hie, 
To  see  if  by  her  fair  speeches 

She  could  with  him  agree. 

1  Give  o'er  your  house,  ye  lady  fair, 

'  Give  o'er  your  house  to  me  ! 
'  Or  I  shall  burn  yourself  therein, 

'  But  and  your  babies  three.' 

4  maun  draw  to  a  hold,  must  go  to  a  castle  7  Rodes,  Rothes 

12  town,  walled  dwelling-place.  17  buskit,  dressed 

28  but  and,  and  also 


232  The  Children's  Treasury 

1  I  winna  give  o'er,  ye  false  Gordon, 

'  To  no  sic  traitor  as  thee  ; 
'  And  if  ye  burn  my  ain  dear  babes, 

'  My  lord  shall  male'  ye  dree. 

— '  Woe  worth,  woe  worth  ye,  Jock,  my  man  ; 

'  I  paid  ye  well  your  fee  ; 
'  Why  pull  ye  out  the  grund-wa'  stone, 

'  Lets  in  the  reek  to  me  ? 

'  And  e'en  woe  worth  ye,  Jock,  my  man  ! 

'  I  paid  ye  well  your  hire  ; 
'  Why  pull  ye  out  the  grund-wa'  stone, 

'  To  me  lets  in  the  fire  ? ; 

— '  Ye  paid  me  well  my  hire,  ladye, 

'  Ye  paid  me  well  my  fee  ; 
'  But  now  I'm  Adam  of  Gordon's  man, — 

'  Must  either  do  or  dee.' 

O  then  bespake  her  little  son, 

Sat  on  the  nurse's  knee  ; 
Says,  '  O  mither  dear,  give  o'er  this  house  ! 

'  For  the  reek  it  smothers  me.' 

— '  I  winna  give  up  my  house,  my  dear, 

'  To  no  sic  traitor  as  he  : 
'  Come  weel,  come  woe,  my  jewel  fair, 

'  Ye  maun  take  share  with  me.' 

O  then  bespake  her  daughter  dear, — 

She  was  both  jimp  and  small  : 
'  O  row  me  in  a  pair  of  sheets, 

'  And  tow  me  o'er  the  wall ! ' 

29  winna,  will  not  32  dree,  suffer  for  it  34  fee,  wages 

35  grund-wa',  foundation  36  reek,  smoke  44  dee,  die 

54  jimp,  slender  55  row,  rou 


of  English  Song  233 

They  row'd  her  in  a  pair  of  sheets, 

And  tow'd  her  o'er  the  wall ; 
But  on  the  point  of  Gordon's  spear 

She  gat  a  deadly  fall. 

O  bonnie,  bonnie  was  her  mouth, 

And  cherry  were  her  cheeks, 
And  clear,  clear  was  her  yellow  hair, 

Whereon  the  red  blood  dreeps  ! 

Then  with  his  spear  he  turn'd  her  o'er ; 

O  gin  her  face  was  wan  ! 
He  said,  '  Ye  are  the  first  that  e'er 

'  I  wish'd  alive  again. 

'  Busk  and  boun,  my  merry  men  all, 

'  For  ill  dooms  I  do  guess  ; — 
'  I  cannot  look  on  that  bonnie  face 

'  As  it  lies  on  the  grass.' 

But  when  the  ladye  saw  the  fire 

Come  flaming  o'er  her  head, 
She  wept,  and  kiss'd  her  children  twain, 

Says,  '  Bairns,  we  be  but  dead.' 

— O  this  way  look'd  her  own  dear  lord, 

As  he  came  o'er  the  lea  ; 
He  saw  his  castle  all  in  a  lowe, 

So  far  as  he  could  see. 

'  Put  on,  put  on,  my  mighty  men, 

■\s  fast  as  ye  can  dri'e  ! 
'  For  he  that's  hindmost  of  the  thrang 
'  Shall  ne'er  get  good  of  me  ! ' 

66  gin,  if  69  busk  and  boun,  prepare  and  get  ready 

70  I  see  evil  coming  79  lowe,  red  flame  82  dri'e,  drive 


234  The  Children's  Treasury 

Then  some  they  rade,  and  some  they  ran, 

Out-o'er  the  grass  and  bent ; 
But  ere  the  foremost  could  win  up, 

Both  lady  and  babes  were  brent. 

And  after  the  Gordon  he  is  gane, 

Sae  fast  as  he  might  dri'e  ; 
And  soon  i'  the  Gordon's  foul  heart's  blood 

He's  wroken  his  fair  ladye. 

Unknown 

*  54* 

HUNTING  SONG 

The  hunt  is  up,  the  hunt  is  up, 

And  it  is  well  nigh  day  ; 
And  Harry  our  king  is  gone  hunting 

To  bring  his  deer  to  bay. 

The  east  is  bright  with  morning  light, 

And  darkness  it  is  fled ; 
And  the  merry  horn  wakes  up  the  morn 

To  leave  his  idle  bed. 

Behold  the  skies  with  golden  dyes 

Are  glowing  all  around  ; 
The  grass  is  green,  and  so  are  the  treen 

All  laughing  at  the  sound. 

The  horses  snort  to  be  at  sport, 

The  dogs  are  running  free, 
The  woods  rejoice  at  the  merry  noise 

Of  Hey  tantara  tee  ree  ! 

The  sun  is  glad  to  see  us  clad 

All  in  our  lusty  green, 
And  smiles  in  the  sky  as  he  riseth  high 

To  see  and  to  be  seen. 

87  win,  come  92  wroken,  revenged         11  treen,  trees 

18  green,  dress 


of  English  Song  235 

Awake  all  men,  I  say  again, 

Be  merry  as  you  may ; 
For  Harry  our  king  is  gone  hunting, 

To  bring  his  deer  to  bay. 

Unknown 


*55* 

THE  RETIRED  CAT 

A  POET'S  cat,  sedate  and  grave 
As  poet  well  could  wish  to  have, 
Was  much  addicted  to  inquire 
For  nooks  to  which  she  might  retire, 
And  where,  secure  as  mouse  in  chink, 
She  might  repose,  or  sit  and  think. 
Sometimes  ascending,  debonair, 
An  apple-tree,  or  lofty  pear, 
Lodged  with  convenience  in  the  fork, 
She  watch'd  the  gardener  at  his  work  : 
Sometimes  her  ease  and  solace  sought 
In  an  old  empty  watering-pot ; 
There,  wanting  nothing  save  a  fan 
To  seem  some  nymph  in  her  sedan, 
ApparelPd  in  exactest  sort, 
And  ready  to  be  borne  to  court. 

But  love  of  change  it  seems  has  place 
Not  only  in  our  wiser  race  ; 
Cats  also  feel,  as  well  as  we, 
That  passion's  force,  and  so  did  she. 
Her  climbing,  she  began  to  find, 
Exposed  her  too  much  to  the  wind, 
And  the  old  utensil  of  tin 
Was  cold  and  comfortless  within : 

1  sedate,  sober  3  addicted,  fond  of 

7  debonair,  cheerful      11  solace,  comfort      14  nymph,  young  lady 
15  dressed  in  the  height  of  fashion  23  utensil,  the  watering-pot 


2  3°  The  Children's  Treasury 

She  therefore  wish'd,  instead  of  those, 
Some  place  of  more  serene  repose, 
Where  neither  cold  might  come,  nor  air 
Too  rudely  wanton  with  her  hair, 
And  sought  it  in  the  likeliest  mode, 
Within  her  master's  snug  abode. 

A  drawer,  it  chanced,  at  bottom  lined 
With  linen  of  the  softest  kind, 
With  such  as  merchants  introduce 
From  India,  foi"  the  ladies'  use — 
A  drawer  impending  o'er  the  rest, 
Half  open,  in  the  topmost  chest, 
Of  depth  enough,  and  none  to  spare, 
Invited  her  to  slumber  there. 
Puss,  with  delight  beyond  expression, 
Survey'd  the  scene  and  took  possession. 
Recumbent  at  her  ease,  ere  long, 
And  lull'd  by  her  own  hum-drum  song, 
She  left  the  cares  of  life  behind, 
And  slept  as  she  would  sleep  her  last ; 
When  in  came,  housewifely  inclined, 
The  chambermaid,  and  shut  it  fast ; 
By  no  malignity  impell'd, 
But  all  unconscious  whom  it  held. 

Awaken'd  by  the  shock,  cried  Puss, 
'  Was  ever  cat  attended  thus  ! 
'  The  open  drawer  was  left,  I  see, 
'  Merely  to  prove  a  nest  for  me  ; 
'  For  soon  as  I  was  well  composed, 
'  Then  came  the  maid,  and  it  was  closed. 
'  How  smooth  these  kerchiefs,  and  how  sweet ! 
'  Oh  !  what  a  delicate  retreat. 
1 1  will  resign  myself  to  rest, 

28  -wanton,  ruffle      30  abode,  home        35  impending,  hanging  out 

41  recumbent,  lying  down  45  housewifely,  to  make  things  neat 

48  unconscious,  not  knowing  50  attended,  waited  on 


of  English  Song  237 

'Till  Sol,  declining  in  the  west, 

'  Shall  call  to  supper,  when,  no  doubt, 

'  Susan  will  come  and  let  me  out.' 

The  evening  came,  the  sun  descended, 
And  Puss  remain'd  still  unattended. 
The  night  roll'd  tardily  away, 
(With  her,  indeed,  'twas  never  day,) 
The  sprightly  morn  her  course  renew'd, 
The  evening  gray  again  ensued  ; 
And  Puss  came  into  mind  no  more 
Than  if  entomb'd  the  day  before. 
With  hunger  pinch'd,  and  pinch'd  for  room, 
She  now  presaged  approaching  doom, 
Nor  slept  a  single  wink  or  purr'd, 
Conscious  of  jeopardy  incurr'd. 

That  night,  by  chance,  the  poet  watching, 
Heard  an  inexplicable  scratching ; 
His  noble  heart  went  pit-a-pat, 
And  to  himself  he  said,  '  What's  that  ?' 
He  drew  the  curtain  at  his  side, 
And  forth  he  peep'd,  but  nothing  spied  ; 
Yet,  by  his  ear  directed,  guess'd 
Something  imprison'd  in  the  chest, 
And,  doubtful  what,  with  prudent  care 
Resolved  it  should  continue  there. 
At  length  a  voice  which  well  he  knew, 
A  long  and  melancholy  mew, 
Saluting  his  poetic  ears, 
Consoled  him  and  dispell'd  his  fears. 
He  left  his  bed,  he  trod  the  floor, 
And  'gan  in  haste  the  drawers  explore, 
The  lowest  first,  and  without  stop 

58  Sol,  the  sun  63  tardily,  slowly  66  ensued,  followed 

68  entomb'd,  buried        70  presaged,  prophesied  ;  doom,  death 
72  jeopardy,  danger       incurr'd,  run  into  73  poet,  Cowper 

74  inexplicable,  what  he  could  not  make  out     86  dispelled,  drove 
away        88  'gan,  began 


238  The  Children's  Treasury 

The  rest  in  order,  to  the  top  ; 

For  'tis  a  truth  well  known  to  most, 

That  whatsoever  thing  is  lost, 

We  seek  it,  ere  it  come  to  light, 

In  every  cranny  but  the  right. 

— Forth  skipp'd  the  cat,  not  now  replete, 

As  erst,  with  airy  self-conceit, 

Nor  in  her  own  fond  apprehension 

A  theme  for  all  the  world's  attention  : 

But  modest,  sober,  cured  of  all 

Her  notions  hyperbolical, 

And  wishing  for  a  place  of  rest 

Anything  rather  than  a  chest. 

Then  stepp'd  the  poet  into  bed 

With  this  reflection  in  his  head  : — 

Moral 
Beware  of  too  sublime  a  sense 
Of  your  own  worth  and  consequence  ! 
The  man  who  dreams  himself  so  great, 
And  his  importance  of  such  weight, 
That  all  around,  in  all  that's  done, 
Must  move  and  act  for  him  alone, 
Will  learn  in  school  of  tribulation, 
The  folly  of  his  expectation. 

W.  Cowper 

*  56  * 
THE  HARPER 

On  the  green  banks  of  Shannon  when  Sheelah  was 

nigh, 
No  blithe  Irish  lad  was  so  happy  as  I  ; 
No  harp  like  my  own  could  so  cheerily  play, 
And  wherever  I  went  was  my  poor  dog  Tray. 

95  replete,  filled       96  erst,  before       97  apprehension  thought 
98  theme,  matter  100  hyperbolical,  ridiculously  grand 

103  sublime,  grand  n  1  tribulation,  suffering 


of  English  Song  239 

When  at  last  I  was  forced  from  my  Sheelah  to 

part, 
She  said,  (while  the  sorrow  was  big  at  her  heart,) 
Oh  !  remember  your  Sheelah  when  far,  far  away  : 
And  be  kind,  my  dear  Pat,  to  our  poor  dog  Tray. 

Poor  dog  !  he  was  faithful  and  kind  to  be  sure, 
And  he  constantly  loved  me  although  I  was  poor  ; 
When  the  sour-looking  folk  sent  me  heartless  away 
I  had  always  a  friend  in  my  poor  dog  Tray. 

When  the  road  was  so  dark,  and  the  night  was  so 

cold, 
And  Pat  and  his  dog  were  grown  weary  and  old, 
How  snugly  we  slept  in  my  old  coat  of  gray, 
And  he  lick'd  me  for  kindness — my  poor  dog  Tray. 

Though  my  wallet  was  scant,  I  remember'd  his  case, 
Nor  refused  my  last  crust  to  his  pitiful  face  ; 
But  he  died  at  my  feet  on  a  cold  winter  day, 
And  I  play'd  a  sad  lament  for  my  poor  dog  Tray. 

Where  now  shall  I  go,  poor,  forsaken,  and  blind  ? 
Can  I  find  one  to  guide  me,  so  faithful  and  kind  ? 
To  my  sweet  native  village,  so  far,  far  away, 
I  can  never  more  return  with  my  poor  dog  Tray. 

T.  Campbell 

*57  * 

ELEGY  ON  THE  DEA  TH  OF  A  MAD  DOG 

Good  people  all,  of  every  sort, 

Give  ear  unto  my  song ; 
And  if  you  find  it  wondrous  short, 

It  cannot  hold  you  long. 

In  Islington  there  was  a  Man, 

Of  whom  the  world  might  say, 
That  still  a  godly  race  he  ran — 

Whene'er  he  went  to  pray. 


240  The  Children's  Treasury 

A  kind  and  gentle  heart  he  had, 

To  comfort  friends  and  foes  : 
The  naked  every  day  he  clad, — 

When  he  put  on  his  clothes. 

And  in  that  town  a  Dog  was  found, 

As  many  dogs  there  be, 
Both  mongrel,  puppy,  whelp,  and  hound, 

And  curs  of  low  degree. 

This  Dog  and  Man  at  first  were  friends  ; 

But  when  a  pique  began, 
The  Dog,  to  gain  some  private  ends, 

Went  mad,  and  bit  the  Man. 

Around  from  all  the  neighbouring  streets 
The  wondering  neighbours  ran, 

And  swore  the  Dog  had  lost  his  wits, 
To  bite  so  good  a  Man  ! 

The  wound  it  seem'd  both  sore  and  sad 

To  every  Christian  eye  : 
And  while  they  swore  the  Dog  was  mad, 

They  swore  the  Man  would  die. 

But  soon  a  wonder  came  to  light, 

That  show'd  the  rogues  they  lied  : — 
The  Man  recover'd  of  the  bite, 

The  Dog  it  was  that  died  ! 

O.  Goldsmith 

*58* 

THE  PARROT 
A  T7~ue  Story 

The  deep  affections  of  the  breast 

That  Heaven  to  living  things  imparts, 
Are  not  exclusively  possess'd 
By  human  hearts. 

18  pique,  quarrel  19  ends,  objects  3  exclusively,  only 


of  English  Song  24 1 

A  Parrot,  from  the  Spanish  main, 

Full  young  and  early  caged  came  o'er, 
With  bright  wings,  to  the  bleak  domain 
Of  Mulla's  shore. 

To  spicy  groves  where  he  had  won 
His  plumage  of  resplendent  hue, 
His  native  fruits,  and  skies,  and  sun, 
He  bade  adieu. 

For  these  he  changed  the  smoke  of  turf, 

A  heathery  land  and  misty  sky, 
And  turn'd  on  rocks  and  raging  surf 
His  golden  eye. 

But  petted  in  our  climate  cold, 

He  lived  and  chatter'd  many  a  day  : 
Until  with  age,  from  green  and  gold 
His  wings  grew  gray. 

At  last  when  blind,  and  seeming  dumb, 

He  scolded,  laugh'd,  and  spoke  no  more, 
A  Spanish  stranger  chanced  to  come 
To  Mulla's  shore  ; 

He  hail'd  the  bird  in  Spanish  speech, 

The  bird  in  Spanish  speech  replied  ; 
Flapp'd  round  the  cage  with  joyous  screech, 
Dropt  down,  and  died. 

T.  Campbell 

*59* 

ROBIN  REDBREAST 

Good-bye,  good-bye  to  Summer  ! 

For  Summer's  nearly  done  ; 
The  garden  smiling  faintly, 

Cool  breezes  in  the  sun  ; 

5  Spanish  main,  mainland  of  South  America  near  West  Indies, 

belonging  to  Spain       8  Mulla,  island  of  Mull 

10  plumage,  feathers  :  resplendent,  brilliant  12  adieu,  farewell 

13  changed,  took  instead  :  turf,  the  fuel  of  the  Hebrides 

R 


242  The  Childrerts  Treasury 

Our  thrushes  now  are  silent, 

Our  swallows  flown  away, — 
But  Robin's  here  with  coat  of  brown, 
And  ruddy  breast-knot  gay. 
Robin,  Robin  Redbreast, 

O  Robin  dear  ! 
Robin  sings  so  sweetly 
In  the  falling  of  the  year. 

Bright  yellow,  red,  and  orange, 

The  leaves  come  down  in  hosts  ; 
The  trees  are  Indian  princes, 

But  soon  they'll  turn  to  ghosts  ; 
The  scanty  pears  and  apples 
Hang  russet  on  the  bough  ; 
Its  Autumn,  Autumn,  Autumn  late, 
T'will  soon  be  Winter  now. 
Robin,  Robin  Redbreast, 

O  Robin  dear  ! 
And  what  will  this  poor  Robin  do  ? 
For  pinching  days  are  near. 

The  fire-side  for  the  cricket, 

The  wheatstack  for  the  mouse, 
When  trembling  night-winds  whistle 

And  moan  all  round  the  house. 
The  frosty  ways  like  iron, 

The  branches  plumed  with  snow, — 
Alas  !  in  winter  dead  and  dark, 
Where  can  poor  Robin  go  ? 
Robin,  Robin  Redbreast, 

O  Robin  dear  ! 
And  a  crumb  of  bread  for  Robin, 
His  little  heart  to  cheer  ! 

W.  Allingham 

IS  covered  with  gold  30  plumed,  feathery 


of  English  Song  243 

*  60  * 

ODE   TO  A  UTUMN 

Season  of  mists  and  mellow  fruitfulness  ! 
Close  bosom-friend  of  the  maturing  sun  ; 
Conspiring  with  him  how  to  load  and  bless 
With  fruit  the  vines  that  round  the  thatch-eaves  run: 
To  bend  with  apples  the  moss'd  cottage-trees, 
And  fill  all  fruit  with  ripeness  to  the  core  ; 
To  swell  the  gourd,  and  plump  the  hazel  shells 
With  a  sweet  kernel  ;  to  set  budding  more 
And  still  more,  later  flowers  for  the  bees, 
Until  they  think  warm  days  will  never  cease  ; 
For  Summer  has  o'erbrimm'd  their  clammy  cells. 

Who  hath  not  seen  Thee  oft  amid  thy  store  ? 

Sometimes  whoever  seeks  abroad  may  find 

Thee  sitting  careless  on  a  granary  floor, 

Thy  hair  soft-lifted  by  the  winnowing  wind  ; 

Or  on  a  half-reap'd  furrow  sound  asleep, 

Drowsed  with  the  fume  of  poppies,  while  thy  hook 

Spares  the  next  swath  and  all  its  twined  flowers ; 

And  sometime  like  a  gleaner  thou  dost  keep 

Steady  thy  laden  head  across  a  brook  ; 

Or  by  a  cider-press,  with  patient  look, 

Thou  watchest  the  last  oozings,  hours  by  hours. 

Where  are  the  songs  of  Spring?  Ay,  where  are  they? 
Think  not  of  them, — thou  hast  thy  music  too, 
While  barred  clouds  bloom  the  soft-dying  day 
And  touch  the  stubble-plains  with  rosy  hue  ; 
Then  in  a  wailful  choir  the  small  gnats  mourn 
Among  the  river-sallows,  borne  aloft 
Or  sinking  as  the  light  wind  lives  or  dies  ; 

2  maturing,  ripening  3  conspiring,  planning 

12  Thee,  Autumn       17  drowsed,  made  drowsy  :  fume,  sleepy  smell 

25  bloom,  cast  a  soft  light  upon  27  wailful,  wailing 

R    2 


244  The  Children's  Treasury 

And  full-grown  lambs  loud  bleat  from  hilly  bourn ; 
Hedge-crickets  sing,  and  now  with  treble  soft 
The  redbreast  whistles  from  a  garden-croft, 
And  gathering  swallows  twitter  in  the  skies. 

J.  Keats 

*6i  * 

THE  DEATH  OF  THE  FLOWERS 

The  melancholy  days  are  come,  the  saddest  of  the 

year, 
Of  wailing  winds,  and  naked  woods,  and  meadows 

brown  and  sear. 
Heap'd  in  the  hollows  of  the  grove,  the   autumn 

leaves  lie  dead  ; 
They  rustle  to  the  eddying  gust,  and  to  the  rabbit's 

tread. 
The  robin  and  the  wren  are  flown,  and  from  the 

shrubs  the  jay, 
And  from  the  wood-top  calls  the  crow  through  all 

the  gloomy  day. 

The  wind-flower  and  the  violet,  they  perish'd  long 

ago, 
And  the  brier-rose  and  the  orchis  died  amid  the 

summer  glow  ; 
But  on  the  hill  the  golden-rod,  and  the  aster  in  the 

wood, 
And  the  yellow  sun-flower  by  the  brook  in  autumn 

beauty  stood, 
Till  fell  the  frost  from  the  clear  cold  heaven,  as  falls 

the  plague  on  men, 
And  the  brightness  of  their  smile  was  gone,  from 

upland,  glade,  and  glen. 

30  bourn,  hill  bounding  the  view  31  treble,  piping 

7  wind-Jlo7ver,  Anemone  nemorosa 


of  English  Song  245 

And  now,  when  comes  the  calm  mild  day,  as  still 

such  days  will  come, 
To  call  the  squirrel  and  the  bee  from  out  their 

winter  home  ; 
When  the  sound  of  dropping  nuts  is  heard,  though 

all  the  trees  are  still, 
And  twinkle  in  the  smoky  light  the  waters  of  the  rill, 
The  south  wind   searches  for  the  flowers  whose 

fragrance  late  he  bore, 
And  sighs  to  find  them  in  the  wood  and  by  the 

stream  no  more. 

W.  C.  Bryant 

*  62  * 
TO  DAFFODILS 

Fair  Daffodils,  we  weep  to  see 

You  haste  away  so  soon  : 
As  yet  the  early-rising  Sun 

Has  not  attain'd  his  noon. 
Stay,  stay, 

Until  the  hasting  day 
Has  run 

But  to  the  even-song  ; 
And,  having  pra/d  together,  we 

Will  go  with  you  along. 

We  have  short  time  to  stay,  as  you, 

We  have  as  short  a  Spring  ; 
As  quick  a  growth  to  meet  decay 
As  you,  or  any  thing. 

We  die, 
As  your  hours  do,  and  dry 

Away 
Like  to  the  Summer's  rain  ; 
Or  as  the  pearls  of  morning's  dew 
Ne'er  to  be  found  again. 

R.  Herrick 

16  smoky,  misty  17  fragrance,  sweet  smell 

4  attained,  reached  13  we  giow  as  fast  towards  death 


246  The  Children's  Treasury 

♦  63* 

CHRISTMAS  IN  OLD  TIME 

Heap  on  more  wood  ! — the  wind  is  chill ; 

But  let  it  whistle  as  it  will, 

We'll  keep  our  Christmas  merry  still. 

Each  age  has  deem'd  the  new-born  year 
The  fittest  time  for  festal  cheer  : 
And  well  our  Christian  sires  of  old 
Loved  when  the  year  its  course  had  roll'd, 
And  brought  blithe  Christmas  back  again, 
With  all  his  hospitable  train. 
Domestic  and  religious  rite 
Gave  honour  to  the  holy  night  ; 
On  Christmas  Eve  the  bells  were  rung  ; 
On  Christmas  Eve  the  mass  was  sung  : 
That  only  night  in  all  the  year, 
Saw  the  stoled  priest  the  chalice  rear. 
The  damsel  donn'd  her  kirtle  sheen  ; 
The  hall  was  dress'd  with  holly  green  ; 
Forth  to  the  wood  did  merry-men  go, 
To  gather  in  the  mistletoe. 
Then  open'd  wide  the  baron's  hall 
To  vassal,  tenant,  serf,  and  all ; 
Power  laid  his  rod  of  rule  aside, 
And  Ceremony  doff'd  his  pride. 
The  heir,  with  roses  in  his  shoes, 
That  night  might  village  partner  choose  ; 
The  lord,  underogating,  share 
The  vulgar  game  of  '  post  and  pair.' 
All  hail'd,  with  uncontroll'd  delight 
And  general  voice,  the  happy  night, 

4  deemed,  thought '  10  rite,  observance 

13  mass,  divine  service  15  stoled,  robed 

16  kirtle  slieen,  gay  gown  21  vassal,  serf,  countrymen  under 

landlord  26  underogating,  without  losing  his  place 

27  a  game  at  cards 


of  English  Song  247 

That  to  the  cottage,  as  the  crown, 
Brought  tidings  of  Salvation  down. 

The  fire,  with  well-dried  logs  supplied, 
Went  roaring  up  the  chimney  wide  ; 
The  huge  hall-table's  oaken  face, 
Scrubb'd  till  it  shone,  the  day  to  grace, 
Bore  then  upon  its  massive  board 
No  mark  to  part  the  squire  and  lord. 
Then  was  brought  in  the  lusty  brawn, 
By  old  blue-coated  serving-man  ; 
Then  the  grim  boar's  head  frown'd  on  high, 
Crested  with  bays  and  rosemary. 
Well  can  the  green-garb'd  ranger  tell, 
How,  when,  and  where,  the  monster  fell ; 
What  dogs  before  his  death  he  tore, 
And  all  the  baiting  of  the  boar. 
The  wassel  round,  in  good  brown  bowls, 
Garnish'd  with  ribbons,  blithely  trowls. 
There  the  huge  sirloin  reek'd  ;  hard  by 
Plum-porridge  stood,  and  Christmas  pie  ; 
Nor  fail'd  old  Scotland  to  produce, 
At  such  high  tide,  her  savoury  goose. 
Then  came  the  merry  maskers  in, 
And  carols  roar'd  with  blithesome  din  ; 
If  unmelodious  was  the  song, 
It  was  a  hearty  note,  and  strong. 
Who  lists  may  in  their  mumming  see 
Traces  of  ancient  mystery  ; 
White  shirts  supplied  the  masquerade, 
And  smutted  cheeks  the  visors  made  ; — 
But,  O  !  what  maskers,  richly  dight, 
Can  boast  of  bosoms  half  so  light  ! 
England  was  merry  England,  when 
Old  Christmas  brought  his  sports  again. 

42  green-garbed,  foresters  were  dresfed  in  green 

46  wassel,  comfortable  drink  :  probably  old  ale       56  lists,  likes 

S7  mystery,  rough  stage -play     59  visors,  masks     60  dight,  dressed 


248  The  Children's  Treasury 

'Twas  Christmas  broach'd  the  mightiest  ale  ; 
Twas  Christmas  told  the  merriest  tale ; 
A  Christmas  gambol  oft  could  cheer 
The  poor  man's  heart  through  half  the  year. 

Sir  W.  Scott 

*  64  * 
RULE  BRITANNIA 

When  Britain  first,  at  Heaven's  command, 

Arose  from  out  the  azure  main, 
This  was  the  charter  of  her  land, 

And  guardian  angels  sung  the  strain  : 
Rule  Britannia  !  Britannia  rules  the  waves  ! 
Britons  never  shall  be  slaves. 

The  nations  not  so  blest  as  thee 

Must  in  their  turn  to  tyrants  fall : 
Whilst  thou  shalt  flourish,  great  and  free, 

The  dread  and  envy  of  them  all. 

Still  more  majestic  shalt  thou  rise, 

More  dreadful  from  each  foreign  stroke  ; 

As  the  loud  blast  that  tears  the  skies 
Serves  but  to  root  thy  native  oak. 

Thee  haughty  tyrants  ne'er  shall  tame  ; 

All  their  attempts  to  bend  thee  down 
Will  but  arouse  thy  generous  flame, 

And  work  their  woe  and  thy  renown. 

To  thee  belongs  the  rural  reign  ; 

Thy  cities  shall  with  commerce  shine  ; 
All  thine  shall  be  the  subject  main, 

And  every  shore  it  circles  thine  ! 

The  Muses,  still  with  Freedom  found, 
Shall  to  thy  happy  coast  repair  ; 

64  broached,  opened  the  cask 
2  azure  7>iain,  blue  sea      3  charter,  law      12  foreign  stroke,  attack 

17  flame,  spirit  19  rural  reign,  excellence  in  farming 

21  main,  sea        23  the  Muses,  arts"and  learning        24  repair,  come 


of  English  Song  249 

Blest  Isle,  with  matchless  beauty  crown'd, 

And  manly  hearts  to  guard  the  fair  : — 

Rule  Britannia  !  Britannia  rules  the  waves  ! 

Britons  never  shall  be  slaves  ! 

y.  Thomson 

*65  * 

BATTLE  OF  THE  BALTIC 

Of  Nelson  and  the  North 

Sing  the  glorious  day's  renown, 

When  to  battle  fierce  came  forth 

All  the  might  of  Denmark's  crown, 

And  her  arms  along  the  deep  proudly  shone  ; 

By  each  gun  the  lighted  brand 

In  a  bold  determined  hand, 

And  the  Prince  of  all  the  land 

Led  them  on. 

Like  leviathans  afloat 

Lay  their  bulwarks  on  the  brine  ; 

While  the  sign  of  battle  flew 

On  the  lofty  British  line  : 

It  was  ten  of  April  morn  by  the  chime  : 

As  they  drifted  on  their  path 

There  was  silence  deep  as  death  ; 

And  the  boldest  held  his  breath 

For  a  time. 

But  the  might  of  England  flush'd 

To  anticipate  the  scene  ; 

And  her  van  the  fleeter  rush'd 

O'er  the  deadly  space  between. 

'  Hearts  of  oak ! '  our  captains  cried,  when  each  gun 

From  its  adamantine  lips 

Spread  a  death-shade  round  the  ships, 

Like  the  hurricane  eclipse 

Of  the  sun. 

4  all  the  power  of  the  Danes    6  brand,  torch     n  bulwarks,  Danish 

ships         19,  20  our  sailors  rejoiced  at  what  was  coming 

21  van,  foremost  ships  24  adamantine,  very  hard 

26  like  the  sun  hidden  hy  a  southern  storm 


250  The  Children's  Treasury 

Again  !  again  !  again  ! 

And  the  havoc  did  not  slack, 

Till  a  feeble  cheer  the  Dane 

To  our  cheering  sent  us  back ; — 

Their  shots  along  the  deep  slowly  boom  : — 

Then  ceased — and  all  is  wail, 

As  they  strike  the  shatter'd  sail ; 

Or  in  conflagration  pale 

Light  the  gloom. 

Out  spoke  the  victor  then 

As  he  hail'd  them  o'er  the  wave, 

'  Ye  are  brothers  !  ye  are  men  ! 

'  And  we  conquer  but  to  save  : — 

'  So  peace  instead  of  death  let  us  bring : 

'  But  yield,  proud  foe,  thy  fleet 

'  With  the  crews,  at  England's  feet, 

'  And  make  submission  meet 

'  To  our  King.' 

Then  Denmark  blest  our  chief 

That  he  gave  her  wounds  repose  ; 

And  the  sounds  of  joy  and  grief 

From  her  people  wildly  rose, 

As  death  withdrew  his  shades  from  the  day  : 

While  the  sun  look'd  smiling  bright 

O'er  a  wide  and  woeful  sight, 

Where  the  fires  of  funeral  light 

Died  away. 

Now  joy,  old  England,  raise ! 

For  the  tidings  of  thy  might, 

By  the  festal  cities'  blaze, 

Whilst  the  wine-cup  shines  in  light ; 

And  yet  amidst  that  joy  and  uproar, 

Let  us  think  of  them  that  sleep 

29  havoc,  destruction  33  wail,  sorrow  37  victor,  conqueror 

50  as  the  battle-smoke  cleared  off  57  festal,  rejoicing 


of  English  Song  251 

Full  many  a  fathom  deep 
By  thy  wild  and  stormy  steep, 
Elsinore  ! 

Brave  hearts  !  to  Britain's  pride 

Once  so  faithful  and  so  true, 

On  the  deck  of  fame  that  died 

With  the  gallant  good  Riou  : 

Soft  sigh  the  winds  of  heaven  o'er  their  grave  ! 

While  the  billow  mournful  rolls, 

And  the  mermaid's  song  condoles, 

Singing,  Glory  to  the  souls 

Of  the  brave ! 

T.  Campbell 

*  66* 

TOM  BOWLING 

Here,  a  sheer  hulk,  lies  poor  Tom  Bowling, 

The  darling  of  our  crew  ; 
No  more  he'll  hear  the  tempest  howling, 

For  death  has  broach'd  him  to. 
His  form  was  of  the  manliest  beauty, 

His  heart  was  kind  and  soft ; 
Faithful,  below,  he  did  his  duty  ; 

But  now  he's  gone  aloft. 

Tom  never  from  his  word  departed, 

His  virtues  were  so  rare, 
His  friends  were  many  and  true-hearted, 

His  Poll  was  kind  and  fair  : 
And  then  he'd  sing,  so  blithe  and  jolly, 

Ah,  many's  the  time  and  oft  ! 
But  mirth  is  turn'd  to  melancholy, 

For  Tom  is  gone  aloft. 

70  condoles,  joins  in  lamenting 
1  sheer  hulk,  ship  without  masts  4  broach  to,  brought  him 

suddenly  up  so  as  to  go  over      8  aloft,  up  to  heaven       12  his  wife 


!52  The  Children's  Treasury 

Yet  shall  poor  Tom  find  pleasant  weather, 

When  He,  who  all  commands, 
Shall  give,  to  call  life's  crew  together, 

The  word  to  pipe  '  all  hands.' 
Thus  Death,  who  kings  and  tars  despatches, 

In  vain  Tom's  life  has  doff'd  : 
For  though  his  body's  under  hatches, 

His  soul  has  gone  aloft. 

C.  Dibdin 

*6y  * 

THE  LA  WLANDS  OF  HOLLAND 

The  Love  that  I  have  chosen 

I'll  therewith  be  content ; 
The  salt  sea  shall  be  frozen 

Before  that  I  repent. 
Repent  it  shall  I  never 

Until  the  day  I  dee  ! 
But  the  Lawlands  of  Holland 

Have  twinn'd  my  Love  and  me. 

My  Love  he  built  a  bonny  ship, 

And  set  her  to  the  main  ; 
With  twenty-four  brave  mariners 

To  sail  her  out  and  hame. 
But  the  weary  wind  began  to  rise, 

The  sea  began  to  rout, 
And  my  Love  and  his  bonny  ship 

Turn'd  withershins  about. 

There  shall  no  mantle  cross  my  back, 

No  comb  go  in  my  hair, 
Neither  shall  coal  nor  candle-light 

Shine  in  my  bower  mair  ; 

20  pipe,  whistle  22  doffed,  ended 

23  under  hatches ,  below  the  deck,  buried 

7  the  Lawlands,  probably  here  the  flat  sands  of  the  coast 

8  twinn'd,  parted  16  withershins,  the  wrong  way  ;  probably 

here,  right  over  20  bower,  girl's  room 


of  English  Song  253 

Nor  shall  I  choose  another  Love 

Until  the  day  I  dee, 
Since  the  Lawlands  of  Holland 

Have  twinn'd  my  Love  and  me. 

'  Now  haud  your  tongue,  my  daughter  dear, 

'  Be  still,  and  bide  content  ! 
'  There's  other  lads  in  Galloway  ; 

'  Ye  needna  sair  lament.' 
— O  there  is  none  in  Galloway, 

There's  none  at  all  for  me  : — 
I  never  loved  a  lad  but  one, 

And  he's  drown'd  in  the  sea. 

Unknown 

*  68  * 

THE  ANCHORSMITHS 

Like  Aetna's  dread  volcano,  see  the  ample  forge 
Large  heaps  upon  large  heaps  of  jetty  fuel  gorge, 
While,  salamander-like,  the  ponderous  anchor  lies 
Glutted  with  vivid  fire,  through  all  its  pores  that 

flies  : — 
The  dingy  anchorsmiths,  to  renovate  their  strength, 
Stretch'd  out  in  death-like  sleep,  are  snoring   at 

their  length, 
Waiting  the  master's  signal  when  the  tackle's  force 
Shall,  like  split  rocks,  the   anchor   from  the   fire 

divorce  ; 
While,  as  old  Vulcan's  Cyclops  did  the  anvil  bang, 
In  deafening  concert  shall  their  ponderous  hammers 

clang, 
And  into  symmetry  the  mass  incongruous  beat, 
To  save  from  adverse  winds  and  waves  the  gallant 

British  fleet. 

2  gorge,  swallow  greedily    3  salamander,  reptile  fabled  to  live  in  fire 
4  glutted,  filled  through  and  through  5  renovate,  refresh 

C  divorce,  withdraw        9  see  end  11  symmetry,  accurate  form: 

incongruous,  shapeless  12  adverse,  opposing 


254  The  Children's  Treasury 

Now,  as  more  vivid  and  intense  each  splinter  flies, 
The  temper  of  the  fire  the  skilful  master  tries  ; 
And,  as  the  dingy  hue  assumes  a  brilliant  red, 
The  heated  anchor  feeds  that  fire  on  which  it  fed  : 
The  huge   sledge-hammers  round    in   order  they 

arrange, 
And    waking   anchorsmiths    await    the   look'd-for 

change, 
Longing  with  all  their  force  the  ardent  mass  to 

smite, 
When   issuing  from  the   fire  array'd   in  dazzling 

white  ; 
And,  as  old  Vulcan's  Cyclops  did  the  anvil  bang, 
To  make  in  concert  rude  their  ponderous  hammers 

clang, 
So  the  misshapen  lump  to  symmetry  they  beat, 
To  save  from  adverse  winds  and  waves  the  gallant 

British  fleet. 

The  preparations  thicken ;  with  forks  the  fire  they 

goad; 
And  now  twelve  anchorsmiths  the  heaving  bellows 

load  ; 
While  arm'd  from  every  danger,  and  in  grim  array, 
Anxious  as  howling  demons  waiting  for  their  prey : — 
The  forge  the  anchor  yields  from  out  its  fiery  maw, 
Which,   on   the    anvil    prone,    the   cavern   shouts 

hurraw  ! 
And  now  the  scorch'd  beholders  want  the  power  to 

gaze, 
Faint  with  its  heat,  and  dazzled  with  its  powerful 

rays  ; 
While,  as  old  Vulcan's  Cyclops  did  the  anvil  bang, 
To  forge  Jove's  thunderbolts,  their  ponderous  ham- 
mers clang  ; — 

15  as  the  dark  iron  grows  red  19  ardent,  white-hot 

30  prone,  lying  flat  :  cavern,  the  smiths  in  their  smithy 


of  English  Song  255 

And,  till  its  fire's  extinct,  the  monstrous  mass  they 

beat 
To  save  from  adverse  winds  and  waves  the  gallant 

British  fleet. 

C.  Dibdin 

*  69  * 
THE  VISION  OF  BELSHAZZAR 

The  King  was  on  his  throne, 

The  Satraps  throng5  d  the  hall ; 
A  thousand  bright  lamps  shone 

O'er  that  high  festival. 
A  thousand  cups  of  gold, 

In  Judah  deem'd  divine — 
Jehovah's  vessels  hold 

The  godless  Heathen's  wine. 

In  that  same  hour  and  hall 

The  fingers  of  a  Hand 
Came  forth  against  the  wall, 

And  wrote  as  if  on  sand  : 
The  fingers  of  a  man  ; — 

A  solitary  hand 
Along  the  letters  ran, 

And  traced  them  like  a  wand. 

The  monarch  saw,  and  shook, 

And  bade  no  more  rejoice  ; 
All  bloodless  wax'd  his  look, 

And  tremulous  his  voice  : — 
'  Let  the  men  of  lore  appear, 

'  The  wisest  of  the  earth, 
1  And  expound  the  words  of  fear, 

'  Which  mar  our  royal  mirth.' 

35  extinct,  gone  out 
2  Satraps,  chief  governors         79  wax'd,  grew 
30  tremulous t  trembling        21  lore,  wisdom       23  expound,  explain 
24.  -mar,  spoil 


256  The  Children's  Treasury 

Chaldea's  seers  are  good, 

But  here  they  have  no  skill ; 
And  the  unknown  letters  stood 

Untold  and  awful  still. 
And  Babel's  men  of  age 

Are  wise  and  deep  in  lore  ; 
But  now  they  were  not  sage, 

They  saw — but  knew  no  more. 

A  Captive  in  the  land, 

A  stranger  and  a  youth, 
He  heard  the  king's  command, 

He  saw  that  writing's  truth  ; 
The  lamps  around  were  bright, 

The  prophecy  in  view  ; 
He  read  it  on  that  night, — 

The  morrow  proved  it  true  ! 

1  Belshazzar's  grave  is  made, 

'  His  kingdom  pass'd  away, 
'  He,  in  the  balance  weigh'd, 

'  Is  light  and  worthless  clay  ; 
*  The  shroud,  his  robe  of  state ; 

'  His  canopy,  the  stone ; 
'The  Mede  is  at  his  gate  ! 

'  The  Persian  on  his  throne  ! ' 

Lord  Byron 

*70* 

EDWIN  AND  PA  U LINUS: 
The  Conversion  of  Northumbria 

The  black-hair'd  gaunt  Paulinus 

By  ruddy  Edwin  stood  : — 
'  Bow  down,  O  king  of  Deira, 

'  Before  the  blesse'd  Rood  ! 

25  seers,  prophets      46  canopy,  covering  of  throne   stone,  tombstone 
4  Rood,  crucifix 


of  English  Song  257 

'  Cast  out  thy  heathen  idols, 

'  And  worship  Christ  our  Lord.' 
— But  Edwin  look'd  and  ponder'd, 
And  answer'd  not  a  word. 

Again  the  gaunt  Paulinus 

To  ruddy  Edwin  spake  : 
'  God  offers  life  immortal 

'  For  his  dear  Son's  own  sake  ! 
'  Wilt  thou  not  hear  his  message, 

'  Who  bears  the  keys  and  sword  ? ' 
■ — But  Edwin  look'd  and  ponder'd, 
And  answer'd  not  a  word. 

Rose  then  a  sage  old  warrior  ; 

Was  five- score  winters  old  ; 
Whose  beard  from  chin  to  girdle 

Like  one  long  snow-wreath  roll'd  : — 
'  At  Yule-time  in  our  chamber 

'  We  sit  in  warmth  and  light, 
'  While  cold  and  howling  round  us 

'  Lies  the  black  land  of  Night. 

'  Athwart  the  room  a  sparrow 

'  Darts  from  the  open  door  : 
'  Within  the  happy  hearth-light 

'  One  red  flash, — and  no  more  ! 
'  We  see  it  come  from  darkness, 

'  And  into  darkness  go  : — 
'  So  is  our  life,  King  Edwin  ! 

'  Alas,  that  it  is  so  ! 

'  But  if  this  pale  Paulinus 

'  Have  somewhat  more  to  tell  ; 
1  Some  news  of  Whence  and  Whither, 

'  And  where  the  soul  will  dwell  ; — 

13  his,  the  Bishop  of  Rome,  who  sent  the  mission  to  England 

s 


Unknown 


5  The  Children's  Treasury 

'  If  on  that  outer  darkness 

'  The  sun  of  Hope  may  shine  ; — 

'  He  makes  life  worth  the  living  ! 
'  I  take  his  God  for  mine  ! ' 

So  spake  the  wise  old  warrior  ; 

And  all  about  him  cried 
'  Paulinus'  God  hath  conquered  ! 

'  And  he  shall  be  our  guide  : — 
'  For  he  makes  life  worth  living 

'  Who  brings  this  message  plain, 
'  When  our  brief  days  are  over, 

'  That  we  shall  live  again.' 

*  71  * 

TO  A  FLY 
BUSY,  curious,  thirsty  Fly, 
Drink  with  me,  and  drink  as  I ! 
Freely  welcome  to  my  cup, 
Could'st  thou  sip  and  sip  it  up  : 
Make  the  most  of  life  you  may  ! 
Life  is  short  and  wears  away. 

Both  alike  are  mine  and  thine, 
Hast'ning  quick  to  their  decline  : — 
Thine's  a  summer  :  mine's  no  more, 
Though  repeated  to  three-score  : — 
Three-score  summers,  when  they're  gone, 
Will  appear  as  short  as  one. 

W.   Oldys 

*  72  * 

THE  LIGHT  OF  OTHER  DAYS 

Oft  in  the  stilly  night 

Ere  slumber's  chain  has  bound  me, 
Fond  Memory  brings  the  light 

Of  other  days  around  me  : 

2  before  Sleep  has  made  me  his  prisoner 


of  English  Song  259 

The  smiles,  the  tears 

Of  boyhood's  years, 
The  words  of  love  then  spoken  ; 

The  eyes  that  shone, 

Now  dimm'd  and  gone, 
The  cheerful  hearts  now  broken  ! 
Thus  in  the  stilly  night 

Ere  slumber's  chain  has  bound  me, 
Sad  Memory  brings  the  light 
Of  other  days  around  me. 

When  I  remember  all 

The  friends  so  link'd  together 
I've  seen  around  me  fall 

Like  leaves  in  wintry  weather, 
I  feel  like  one 
Who  treads  alone 
Some  banquet-hall  deserted, 
Whose  lights  are  fled, 
Whose  garlands  dead, 
And  all  but  he  departed  ! 
Thus  in  the  stilly  night 

Ere  slumber's  chain  has  bound  me, 
Sad  Memory  brings  the  light 
Of  other  days  around  me. 

T.  Moore 


*  73  * 

THE  POPLAR  FIELD 

The  poplars  are  fell'd,  farewell  to  the  shade 
And  the  whispering  sound  of  the  cool  colonnade 
The  winds  play  no  longer  and  sing  in  the  leaves, 
Nor  Ouse  on  his  bosom  their  image  receives. 


16  link'd,  joined  21  banquet,  feast 

2  colonnade,  row 

S  2 


260  The  Children's  Treasury 

Twelve  years  have  elapsed  since  I  last  took  a  view 
Of  my  favourite  field,  and  the  bank  where  they  grew: 
And  now  in  the  grass  behold  they  are  laid, 
And  the  tree  is  my  seat  that  once  lent  me  a  shade. 

The  blackbird  has  fled  to  another  retreat 

Where  the  hazels   afford  him  a  screen  from  the 

heat  ; 
And  the  scene  where  his  melody  charm'd  me  before 
Resounds  with  his  sweet-flowing  ditty  no  more. 

My  fugitive  years  are  all  hasting  away, 
And  I  must  ere  long  lie  as  lowly  as  they, 
With  a  turf  on  my  breast  and  a  stone  at  my  head, 
Ere  another  such  grove  shall  arise  in  its  stead. 

'Tis  a  sight  to  engage  me,  if  anything  can, 
To  muse  on  the  perishing  pleasures  of  man  ; 
Short-lived  as  we  are,  our  enjoyments,  I  see, 
Have  a  still  shorter  date,  and  die  sooner  than  we. 

W.  Cowper 

*  7  A-  * 

FRIENDS  DEPARTED 

THEY  are  all  gone  into  the  world  of  light ! 

And  I  alone  sit  lingering  here  ! 
Their  very  memory  is  fair  and  bright, 
And  my  sad  thoughts  doth  clear. 

It  glows  and  glitters  in  my  cloudy  breast 

Like  stars  upon  some  gloomy  grove, 
Or  those  faint  beams  in  which  this  hill  is  drest 
After  the  Sun's  remove. 

5  elapsed,  passed  n  melody,  music  13  fugitive,  flying 

17  engage,  lead  18  muse,  reflect 

5  It,  memory  8  remove,  setting 


of  English  Song  261 

I  see  them  walking  in  an  air  of  glory, 

Whose  light  doth  trample  on  my  days  ; 
My  days,  which  are  at  best  but  dull  and  hoary, 
Mere  glimmerings  and  decays. 

O  holy  hope  !  and  high  humility  ! 

High  as  the  Heavens  above  ! 
These  are  your  walks,  and  you  have  show'd  them 
me, 

To  kindle  my  cold  love. 

Dear,  beauteous  Death  ;  the  jewel  of  the  just ! 

Shining  nowhere  but  in  the  dark  ; 
What  mysteries  do  lie  beyond  thy  dust, 
Could  man  outlook  that  mark  ! 

He  that  hath  found  some  fledged  birdes  nest  may 
know 
At  first  sight  if  the  bird  be  flown  ; 
But  what  fair  dell  or  grove  he  sings  in  now, 
That  is  to  him  unknown. 

And  yet,  as  Angels  in  some  brighter  dreams 

Call  to  the  soul  when  man  doth  sleep, 
So  some  strange  thoughts  transcend  our  wonted 
themes, 

And  into  glory  peep. 

H.  Vmtghan 

*7S  * 

THE  LAND  OF  DREAMS 

1  AWAKE,  awake,  my  little  boy  ! 

'  Thou  wast  thy  mother's  only  joy  ; 

'  Why  dost  thou  weep  in  thy  gentle  sleep  ? 

'  O  wake  !  thy  father  does  thee  keep.' 

10  tratnpl   on,  surpass  greatly  17  just,  good  19  mysteries, 

wonders        27  transcend,  go  above  ou    usual  thoughts 


262  The  Childrerts  Treasury 

— '  O  what  land  is  the  Land  of  Dreams  ? 

'  What  are  its  mountains,  and  what  are  its  streams  ? 

'  O  father  !  I  saw  my  mother  there, 

'  Among  the  lilies  by  waters  fair. 

'  Among  the  lambs,  clothe"d  in  white, 

'  She  walk'd  with  her  Thomas  in  sweet  delight : 

'  I  wept  for  joy  ;  like  a  dove  I  mourn  : — 

'  O  when  shall  I  again  return  ! ' 

— '  Dear  child  !  I  also  by  pleasant  streams 
'  Have  wandered  all  night  in  the  Land  of  Dreams  : — 
'  But,  though  calm  and  warm  the  waters  wide, 
'  I  could  not  get  to  the  other  side.' 

— '  Father,  O  father  !  what  do  we  here, 
'  In  this  land  of  unbelief  and  fear  ? — 
'  The  Land  of  Dreams  is  better  far, 
'  Above  the  light  of  the  morning  star.' 

W.  Blake 

*  76  * 
DEA  TH  IN  LIFE 

How  soon  doth  man  decay  ! 
When  clothes  are  taken  from  a  chest  of  sweets 
To  swaddle  infants,  whose  young  breath 

Scarce  knows  the  way, 
Those  clouts  are  little  winding-sheets, 
Which  do  consign  and  send  them  unto  death. 

When  boys  go  first  to  bed. 
They  step  into  their  voluntary  graves  ; 
Sleep  binds  them  fast  ;  only  their  breath 

Makes  them  not  dead. 
Successive  nights,  like  rolling  waves, 
Convey  them  quickly,  who  are  bound  for  death. 

6  consign,  mark  them  for  : — the  thought  of  the  poem  is,  that  every. 

thing  in  Life  foreshows  and  longs  for  Death 

11  successive,  one  after  the  other 


of  English  Song  263 

When  youth  is  frank  and  free, 
And  calls  for  music,  while  his  veins  do  swell, 
All  day  exchanging  mirth  and  breath, 

In  company ; 
That  music  summons  to  the  knell, 
Which  shall  befriend  him  at  the  house  of  death. 

When  man  grows  staid  and  wise, 
Getting  a  house  and  home,  where  he  may  move 
Within  the  circle  of  his  breath, 

Schooling  his  eyes ; 

That  dumb  inclosure  maketh  love 

Unto  the  coffin,  that  attends  his  death. 

When  age  grows  low  and  weak, 
Marking  his  grave,  and  thawing  every  year, 
Till  all  do  melt,  and  drown  his  breath 

When  he  would  speak  ; 
A  chair  or  litter  shows  the  bier 
Which  shall  convey  him  to  the  house  of  death. 

Man,  ere  he  is  aware, 
Hath  put  together  a  solemnity, 
And  drest  his  hearse,  while  he  has  breath 

As  yet  to  spare  : — 
Yet,  Lord  !  instruct  us  so  to  die, 
That  all  these  dyings  may  be  life  in  death. 

G.  Herbert 

*77* 

TO-MORROW 

In  the  downhill  of  life,  when  I  find  I'm  declining, 

May  my  lot  no  less  fortunate  be 
Than  a  snug  elbow-chair  can  afford  for  reclining, 

And  a  cot  that  o'erlooks  the  wide  sea  ; 

15  breath,  song  22  schooling,  training 

23  the  walls  of  his  house  form  themselves  beforehand  into  a  coffin 

24  at:e»ds,  is  waiting  for  29  shows,  figures  beforehand 


264  The  Children's  Treasury 

With  an  ambling  pad-pony  to  pace  o'er  the  lawn, 

While  I  carol  away  idle  sorrow, 
And  blithe  as  the  lark  that  each  day  hails  the  dawn, 

Look  forward  with  hope  for  to-morrow. 

With  a  porch  at   my  door,  both  for  shelter  and 
shade  too, 

As  the  sun-shine  or  rain  may  prevail ; 
And  a  small  spot  of  ground  for  the  use  of  the  spade 
too, 

With  a  barn  for  the  use  of  the  flail : 
A  cow  for  my  dairy,  a  dog  for  my  game, 

And  a  purse  when  a  friend  wants  to  borrow  ; 
I'll  envy  no  nabob  his  riches  or  fame, 

Nor  what  honours  await  him  to-morrow. 

From  the  bleak  northern  blast  may  my  cot  be  com- 
pletely 

Secured  by  a  neighbouring  hill ; 
And  at  night  may  repose  steal  upon  me  more  sweetly 

By  the  sound  of  a  murmuring  rill : 
And  while  peace  and  plenty  I  find  at  my  board, 

With  a  heart  free  from  sickness  and  sorrow, 
With  my  friends  may  I  share  what  to-day  may  afford, 

And  let  them  spread  the  table  to-morrow. 

And  when  I  at  last  must  throw  off  this  frail  cover- 
ing 
Which  I've  worn  for  three-score  years  and  ten, 
On  the  brink  of  the  grave  I'll  not  seek  to  keep 
hovering, 
Nor  my  thread  wish  to  spin  o'er  again  : 
But  my  face  in  the  glass  I'll  serenely  survey, 

And  with  smiles  count  each  wrinkle  and  furrow; 
As  this  old  worn-out  stuff, which  is  thread-bare  to-day. 
May  become  everlasting  to-morrow. 

y.  Collins 

15  nabob,  newly  rich  man  28  thread  to  spin,  live  my  life 

29  serenely,  calmly  31  stuff,  his  body 


of  English  Song  265 

HUMAN  LIFE 

This  Life,  which  seems  so  fair, 
Is  like  a  bubble  blown  up  in  the  air 

By  sporting  children's  breath, 

Who  chase  it  everywhere, 
And  strive  who  can  most  motion  it  bequeath. 
And  though  it  sometimes  seem  of  its  own  might 
Like  to  an  eye  of  gold  to  be  fix'd  there, 
And  firm  to  hover  in  that  empty  height, 
That  only  is  because  it  is  so  light. 
— But  in  that  pomp  it  doth  not  long  appear ; 
For  when  'tis  most  admired,  in  a  thought, 
Because  it  erst  was  nought,  it  turns  to  nought. 

W.  Drummond 

*79* 

ADORATION 

Sweet  is  the  dew  that  falls  betimes, 
And  drops  upon  the  leafy  limes  ; 

Sweet  Hermon's  fragrant  air  : 
Sweet  is  the  lily's  silver  bell, 
And  sweet  the  wakeful  tapers  smell 

That  watch  for  early  prayer. 

Sweet  the  young  nurse,  with  love  intense, 
Which  smiles  o'er  sleeping  innocence ; 

Sweet  when  the  lost  arrive  : 
Sweet  the  musician's  ardour  beats, 
While  his  vague  mind's  in  quest  of  sweets, 

The  choicest  flowers  to  hive. 

5  bequeath,  give  10  pomp,  glory  12  erst,  at  first 

10  ardour,  passion  for  his  work     11  vague,  wandering :  quest,  search 
12  flowers,  of  music 


266  The  Children's  Treasury 

Strong  is  the  horse  upon  his  speed  ; 
Strong  in  pursuit  the  rapid  glede, 

Which  makes  at  once  his  game  : 
Strong  the  tall  ostrich  on  the  ground  ; 
Strong  through  the  turbulent  profound 

Shoots  xiphias  to  his  aim. 

Strong  is  the  lion — like  a  coal 
His  eyeball — like  a  bastion's  mole 

His  chest  against  the  foes  : 
Strong  the  gier-eagle  on  his  sail  ; 
Strong  against  tide  the  enormous  whale 

Emerges  as  he  goes. 

But  stronger  still,  in  earth  and  air, 
And  in  the  sea,  the  man  of  prayer, 

And  far  beneath  the  tide  : 
And  in  the  seat  to  Faith  assign'd, 
Where  ask  is,  have  ;  where  seek  is,  find  ; 

Where  knock  is,  open  wide. 

C.  Smart 

*8o* 

ELEGY  WRITTEN  IN  A  COUNTRY  CHURCH-YARD 

The  curfew  tolls  the  knell  of  parting  day, 
The  lowing  herd  winds  slowly  o'er  the  lea, 
The  ploughman  homeward  plods  his  weary  way 
And  leaves  the  world  to  darkness  and  to  me. 

Now  fades  the  glimmering  landscape  on  the  sight, 
And  all  the  air  a  solemn  stillness  holds, 
Save  where  the  beetle  wheels  his  droning  flight, 
And  drowsy  tinklings  lull  the  distant  folds  : 

14  glcde,  kite  17  turbulent  profound,  stormy  sea 

18  xiphias  s.word-fish  20  iastion's  mole,  projecting  piece  of 

fortification  22  gier-eagle,  large 

a    emerges,  rises  above  surface  1  curfew,  evening  bell 

7  droning,  long  low  humming 


of  English  Song  267 

Save  that  from  yonder  ivy-mantled  tower 
The  moping  owl  does  to  the  moon  complain 
Of  such  as,  wandering  near  her  secret  bower, 
Molest  her  ancient  solitary  reign. 

Beneath  those  rugged  elms,  that  yew-tree's  shade 
Where  heaves  the  turf  in  many  a  mouldering  heap, 
Each  in  his  narrow  cell  for  ever  laid, 
The  rude  Forefathers  of  the  hamlet  sleep. 

The  breezy  call  of  incense-breathing  morn, 
The  swallow  twittering  from  the  straw-built  shed, 
The  cock's  shrill  clarion,  or  the  echoing  horn, 
No  more  shall  rouse  them  from  their  lowly  bed. 

For  them  no  more  the  blazing  hearth  shall  burn, 
Or  busy  housewife  ply  her  evening  care : 
No  children  run  to  lisp  their  sire's  return, 
Or  climb  his  knees  the  envied  kiss  to  share. 

Oft  did  the  harvest  to  their  sickle  yield, 
Their  furrow  oft  the  stubborn  glebe  has  broke  ; 
How  jocund  did  they  drive  their  team  afield  ! 
How  bowM  the  woods  beneath  their  sturdy  stroke  ! 

Let  not  Ambition  mock  their  useful  toil, 
Their  homely  joys,  and  destiny  obscure  ; 
Nor  Grandeur  hear  with  a  disdainful  smile 
The  short  and  simple  annals  of  the  Poor. 

The  boast  of  heraldry,  the  pomp  of  power, 
And  all  that  beauty,  all  that  wealth  e'er  gave, 
Await  alike  th'  inevitable  hour  : — 
The  paths  of  glory  lead  but  to  the  grave. 

12  molest,  trouble  her  solitude  15  cell,  chamber,  the  grave 

17  incense-breathing;  smelling  sweetly  19  clarion,  trumpet 

22  ply  her  care,  do  her  work  26  glebe,  plough  land 

27  jocund,  cheerful  30  destiny,  mode  of  life  : 

obscure,  little  known  of  32  annals,  history  of  years 

35  inevitable,  that  which  cannot  be  escaped 


268  The  Children's  Treasury 

Nor  you,  ye  Proud,  impute  to  these  the  fault 
If  Memory  o'er  their  tomb  no  trophies  raise, 
Where  through  the  long-drawn  aisle  and  fretted  vault 
The  pealing  anthem  swells  the  note  of  praise. 

Can  storied  urn  or  animated  bust 
Back  to  its  mansion  call  the  fleeting  breath  ? 
Can  Honour's  voice  provoke  the  silent  dust, 
Or  Flattery  soothe  the  dull  cold  ear  of  Death  ? 

Perhaps  in  this  neglected  spot  is  laid 
Some  heart  once  pregnant  with  celestial  fire  ; 
Hands,  that  the  rod  of  empire  might  have  sway'd, 
Or  waked  to  ecstasy  the  living  lyre  : 

But  Knowledge  to  their  eyes  her  ample  page, 
Rich  with  the  spoils  of  time,  did  ne'er  unroll ; 
Chill  Penury  repress'd  their  noble  rage, 
And  froze  the  genial  current  of  the  soul. 

Full  many  a  gem  of  purest  ray  serene 
The  dark  unfathom'd  caves  of  ocean  bear  : 
Full  many  a  flower  is  born  to  blush  unseen, 
And  waste  its  sweetness  on  the  desert  air. 

Some  village-Hampden,  that  with  dauntless  breast 
The  little  tyrant  of  his  fields  withstood, 
Some  mute  inglorious  Milton  here  may  rest, 
Some  Cromwell,  guiltless  of  his  country's  blood. 

Th'  applause  of  list'ning  senates  to  command, 
The  threats  of  pain  and  ruin  to  despise, 
To  scatter  plenty  o'er  a  smiling  land, 
And  read  their  history  in  a  nation's  eyes 


37  impute  fault ',  blame  38  trophies,  great  monuments 

39  fretted,  carved  41  storied  urn,  monument  with  inscription 

43  provoke,  call  out  again  to  life  46  pregnant  ■with,  full  of 

48  lyre,  harp     51  Penury,  poverty  :  rage,  genius     53  ray,  radiance 
39  mute,  silent     61  applause,  shouts  of  praise :  senates,  parliaments 


of  English  Song  269 

Their  lot  forbade  :  nor  circumscribed  alone 
Their  growing  virtues,  but  their  crimes  confined  ; 
Forbade  to  wade  through  slaughter  to  a  throne, 
And  shut  the  gates  of  mercy  on  mankind  ; 

The  struggling  pangs  of  conscious  truth  to  hide, 
To  quench  the  blushes  of  ingenuous  shame, 
Or  heap  the  shrine  of  Luxury  and  Pride 
With  incense  kindled  at  the  Muse's  flame. 

Far  from  the  madding  crowd's  ignoble  strife, 
Their  sober  wishes  never  learn'd  to  stray  ; 
Along  the  cool  sequester'd  vale  of  life 
They  kept  the  noiseless  tenour  of  their  way. 

Yet  e'en  these  bones  from  insult  to  protect 
Some  frail  memorial  still  erected  nigh, 
With  uncouth  rhymes  and  shapeless  sculpture  deck'd, 
Implores  the  passing  tribute  of  a  sigh. 

Their  name,  their  years,  spelt  by  th'  unlettered  Muse, 
The  place  of  fame  and  elegy  supply  : 
And  many  a  holy  text  around  she  strews 
That  teach  the  rustic  moralist  to  die. 

For  who,  to  dumb  forgetfulness  a  prey, 
This  pleasing  anxious  being  e'er  resign'd, 
Left  the  warm  precincts  of  the  cheerful  day, 
Nor  cast  one  longing,  lingering  look  behind  ? 

On  some  fond  breast  the  parting  soul  relies, 
Some  pious  drops  the  closing  eye  requires ; 
E'en  from  the  tomb  the  voice  of  Nature  cries, 
E'en  in  our  ashes  live  their  wonted  fires. 

65  circumscribed,  bounded  71,  72  flatter  with  poetry  the  rich 

75  sequester'd,  quiet         76  tenour,  character        80  tribute,  offering 
Si   unletter'd  Muse,  untaught  village  poet        82  elegy,  poem  upon 

a  person  dead  84  moralist,  thoughtful  person 

86  this  being,  this  life     87  precincts,  abodes     89  parting,  departing 

90  pioiis  drops,  tears  of  affection 

91,  92  the  dead  have  affections  and  desires 


270  The  Children's  Treasury 

For  thee,  who,  mindful  of  th'  unhonourM  dead, 
Dost  in  these  lines  their  artless  tale  relate ; 
If  chance,  by  lonely  Contemplation  led, 
Some  kindred  spirit  shall  inquire  thy  fate, — 

Haply  some  hoary-headed  swain  may  say, 
'  Oft  have  we  seen  him  at  the  peep  of  dawn 
1  Brushing  with  hasty  steps  the  dews  away, 
'  To  meet  the  sun  upon  the  upland  lawn  ; 

'  There  at  the  foot  of  yonder  nodding  beech 
'  That  wreathes  its  old  fantastic  roots  so  high, 
'  His  listless  length  at  noon-tide  would  he  stretch, 
'  And  pore  upon  the  brook  that  babbles  by. 

'  Hard  by  yon  wood,  now  smiling  as  in  scorn, 
'  Muttering  his  wayward  fancies  he  would  rove  ; 
'  Now  drooping,  woeful-wan,  like  one  forlorn, 
'  Or  crazed  with  care,  or  cross'd  in  hopeless  love. 

'  One  morn  I  miss'd  him  on  the  custom'd  hill, 
'Along  the  heath,  and  near  his  favourite  tree  ; 
'  Another  came  ;  nor  yet  beside  the  rill, 
'  Nor  up  the  lawn,  nor  at  the  wood  was  he ; 

'  The  next  with  dirges  due  in  sad  array 

'  Slow  through  the  church-way  path  we   saw  him 

'  borne, — 
'Approach  and  read  (for  thou  canst  read)  the  lay 
'Graved  on  the  stone  beneath  yon  aged  thorn.' 

The  Epitaph 
Here  rests  his  head  upon  the  lap  of  Earth 
A  Youth,  to  Fortune  and  to  Fame  unknown  ; 
Fair  Science  frown'd  not  on  his  humble  birth, 
And  Melancholy  mark'd  him  for  her  own. 

93  thee,  the  Poet     94  artless,  simple     96  kindred  spirit,  thoughtful 

man        97  swain,  countryman       102  fantastic,  twisted       104  fore, 

look  steadily        105  Bard  by,  close  to         113  dirges,  funeral  service 

115  lay,  epitaph  119  though  poor,  he  was  well  educated 


of  English  Song  27 1 

Large  was  his  bounty,  and  his  soul  sincere ; 

Heaven  did  a  recompense  as  largely  send  : 

He  gave  to  Misery  all  he  had,  a  tear, 

He  gain'd  from  Heaven,  'twas  all  he  wish'd,  a  friend. 

No  farther  seek  his  merits  to  disclose, 
Or  draw  his  frailties  from  their  dread  abode, 
(There  they  alike  in  trembling  hope  repose,) 
The  bosom  of  his  Father  and  his  God. 

T.  Gray 

*8l* 
TO  A  SKYLARK 

HAIL  to  thee,  blithe  Spirit ! 

Bird  thou  never  wert, 
That  from  heaven,  or  near  it, 
Pourest  thy  full  heart 
In  profuse  strains  of  unpremeditated  art. 

Higher  still  and  higher 

From  the  earth  thou  springest, 
Like  a  cloud  of  fire, 
The  blue  deep  thou  wingest, 
And    singing   still   dost    soar,   and    soaring    ever 
s  ingest.  ■» 

In  the  golden  lightning 

Of  the  sunken  sun 
O'er  which  clouds  are  bright'ning, 
Thou  dost  float  and  run, 
Like  an  unbodied  Joy  whose  race  is  just  begun. 

The  pale  purple  even 

Melts  around  thy  flight ; 
Like  a  star  of  heaven 

In  the  broad  daylight 
Thou  art  unseen,  but  yet  I  hear  thy  shrill  delight : 

122  recompetise,  reward  125  disclose,  make  known 

5  profuse,  abundant :  unpre7)ieditated,  not  thought  of  before 


272  The  Childrerts  Treasury 

Keen  as  are  the  arrows 

Of  that  silver  sphere, 
Whose  intense  lamp  narrows 

In  the  white  dawn  clear 
Until  we  hardly  see,  we  feel  that  it  is  here. 

All  the  earth  and  air 

With  thy  voice  is  loud, 
As,  when  night  is  bare, 
From  one  lonely  cloud 
The  moon  rains  out  her  beams,  and  heaven  is  over- 
flow'd. 

What  thou  art  we  know  not ; 

What  is  most  like  thee  ? 
From  rainbow  clouds  there  flow  not 

Drops  so  bright  to  see 
As  from  thy  presence  showers  a  rain  of  melody. 

Like  a  poet  hidden 

In  the  light  of  thought, 
Singing  hymns  unbidden, 

Till  the  world  is  wrought 
To  sympathy  with  hopes  and  fears  it  heeded  not : 

Like  a  high-born  maiden 

In  a  palace  tower, 
Soothing  her  love-laden 
Soul  in  secret  hour 
With  music   sweet  as  love,  which  overflows  her 
bower : 

Like  a  glow-worm  golden 

In  a  dell  of  dew, 
Scattering  unbeholden 
Its  aerial  hue 
Among  the  flowers  and  grass,  which  screen  it  from 
the  view  : 

21  arrows,  rays  22  sphere,  star 

23  intense  lamp,  brilliant  light  40  to  sympathy,  to  feel 

49  aerial  hue,  the  faint  light  of  the  glow-worm 


of  English  Song  273 

Like  a  rose  embowered 

In  its  own  green  leaves, 
By  warm  winds  deflower'd, 
Till  the  scent  it  gives 
Makes  faint  with  too  much   sweet  these  heavy- 
winge'd  thieves. 

Sound  of  vernal  showers 
On  the  twinkling  grass, 
Rain-awaken'd  flowers, 
All  that  ever  was 
Joyous,  and  clear,  and  fresh,  thy  music  doth  sur- 
pass. 

Teach  us,  sprite  or  bird, 

What  sweet  thoughts  are  thine  : 
I  have  never  heard 
Praise  of  love  or  wine 
That  panted  forth  a  flood  of  rapture  so  divine. 

Chorus  hymeneal 

Or  triumphal  chaunt 
Match'd  with  thine,  would  be  all 
But  an  empty  vaunt — 
A  thing  wherein  we  feel   there  is  some  hidden 
want. 

What  objects  are  the  fountains 

Of  thy  happy  strain  ? 
What  fields,  or  waves,  or  mountains  ? 
What  shapes  of  sky  or  plain  ? 
What  love  of  thine  own  kind?  what  ignorance  of 
pain  ? 

55  thieves,  the  winds  that  steal  the  scent  of  the  rose 

56  vernal,  in  spring        65  rapture,  delight       66,  67  marriage-song 

or  song  of  victory  69  vaunt,  boast 

T 


274  The  Children's  Treasury 

With  thy  clear  keen  joyance 

Languor  cannot  be  : 
Shadow  of  annoyance 

Never  came  near  thee  : 
Thou  lovest ;  but  ne'er  knew  love's  sad  satiety. 

Waking  or  asleep 

Thou  of  death  must  deem 
Things  more  true  and  deep 
Than  we  mortals  dream, 
Or  how  could  thy  notes  flow  in  such  a  crystal 
stream  ? 
We  look  before  and  after, 

And  pine  for  what  is  not  : 
Our  sincerest  laughter 

With  some  pain  is  fraught ; 
Our  sweetest  songs  are  those  that  tell  of  saddest 
thought. 
Yet  if  we  could  scorn 

Hate,  and  pride,  and  fear; 
If  we  were  things  born 
Not  to  shed  a  tear, 
I  know  not  how  thy  joy  we  ever  should  come  near. 

Better  than  all  measures 

Of  delightful  sound, 
Better  than  all  treasures 
That  in  books  are  found, 
Thy    skill    to    poet    were,    thou    scorner    of    the 
ground  ! 

Teach  me  half  the  gladness 

That  thy  brain  must  know, 
Such  harmonious  madness 
From  my  lips  would  flow 
The  world  should  listen  then,  as  I  am  listening 
now ! 

P.  B.  Shelley 
82  deem,  think  89  fraught,  laden  96  measures,  music 


of  English  Song  275 

*  82  * 

A   CRADLE  SONG 

Hush  !  my  dear,  lie  still  and  slumber  ; 

Holy  angels  guard  thy  bed  ! 
Heavenly  blessings  without  number 

Gently  falling  on  thy  head. 

Sleep,  my  babe  ;    thy  food  and  raiment, 
House  and  home,  thy  friends  provide  ; 

All  without  thy  care  or  payment 
All  thy  wants  are  well  supplied. 

How  much  better  thou'rt  attended 

Than  the  Son  of  God  could  be, 
When  from  Heaven  he  descended, 

And  became  a  child  like  thee  ! 

Soft  and  easy  is  thy  cradle  : 

Coarse  and  hard  thy  Saviour  lay : 
When  his  birth-place  was  a  stable, 

And  his  softest  bed  was  hay. 

See  the  kindly  shepherds  round  him, 

Telling  wonders  from  the  sky  ! 
Where  they  sought  him,  there  they  found  him, 

With  his  Virgin-Mother  by. 

See  the  lovely  babe  a-dressing  : 

Lovely  infant,  how  he  smiled  ! 
When  he  wept,  the  mother's  blessing 

Soothed  and  hush'd  the  holy  child. 

Lo,  he  slumbers  in  his  manger, 

Where  the  horne'd  oxen  fed  ; 
—Peace,  my  darling  !  here's  no  danger  ! 

Here's  no  ox  a-near  thy  bed  ! 

9  attended,  waited  on 

T    2 


276  The  Children's  Treasury 

— May'st  thou  live  to  know  and  fear  him, 

Trust  and  love  him  all  thy  days  : 
Then  go  dwell  for  ever  near  him  ; 

See  his  face,  and  sing  his  praise. 

I  could  give  thee  thousand  kisses, 

Hoping  what  I  most  desire  : 
Not  a  mother's  fondest  wishes 

Can  to  greater  joys  aspire. 

/.  Watts 

*8$* 

ON  THE  MORNING  OF  CHRIST'S  NATIVITY 

This  is  the  month,  and  this  the  happy  morn 
Wherein  the  Son  of  Heaven's  Eternal  King 
Of  wedded  maid  and  virgin  mother  born, 
Our  great  redemption  from  above  did  bring ; 
For  so  the  holy  sages  once  did  sing 
That  he  our  deadly  forfeit  should  release, 
And  with  his  Father  work  us  a  perpetual  peace. 

That  glorious  Form,  that  Light  unsufferable, 

And  that  far-beaming  blaze  of  Majesty 

Wherewith  he  wont  at  Heaven's  high  council-table 

To  sit  the  midst  of  Trinal  Unity, 

He  laid  aside  ;  and,  here  with  us  to  be, 

Forsook  the  courts  of  everlasting  day, 

And  chose  with  us  a  darksome  house  of  mortal  clay. 

Say,  heavenly  Muse,  shall  not  thy  sacred  vein 

Afford  a  present  to  the  Infant  God  ? 

Hast  thou  no  verse,  no  hymn,  or  solemn  strain 

To  welcome  him  to  this  his  new  abode, 

Now  while  the  heaven,  by  the  sun's  team  untrod, 

36  aspire,  hope  6  forfeit,  punishment  due  for  sin 

15,  16  shrill  not  this  sacred  subject  be  sung 

19  team,  chariot  and  horses,  supposed  to  carry  the  sun 


of  English  Song  277 

Hath  took  no  print  of  the  approaching  light, 
And  all  the  spangled  host  keep  watch  in  squadrons 
bright  ? 

See  how  from  far,  upon  the  eastern  road, 

The  star-led  wizards  haste  with  odours  sweet  : 

O  run,  prevent  them  with  thy  humble  ode 

And  lay  it  lowly  at  his  blessed  feet ; 

Have  thou  the  honour  first  thy  Lord  to  greet, 

And  join  thy  voice  unto  the  angel  quire 

From  out  his  secret  altar  touch'd  with  hallow'd  fire. 

The  Hymn 

It  was  the  winter  wild 

While  the  heaven-born  Child 

All  meanly  wrapt  in  the  rude  manger  lies  ; 

Nature  in  awe  to  him 

Had  doff'd  her  gaudy  trim, 

With  her  great  Master  so  to  sympathize  : 

It  was  no  season  then  for  her 

To  wanton  with  the  sun,  her  lusty  paramour. 

Only  with  speeches  fair 

She  woos  the  gentle  air 

To  hide  her  guilty  front  with  innocent  snow  ; 

And  on  her  naked  shame, 

Pollute  with  sinful  blame, 

The  saintly  veil  of  maiden  white  to  throw  ; 

Confounded,  that  her  Maker's  eyes 

Should  look  so  near  upon  her  foul  deformities. 

But  he,  her  fears  to  cease, 

Sent  down  the  meek-eyed  Peace  ; 

She,  crown'd  with  olive  green,  came  softly  sliding 

Down  through  the  turning  sphere, 

21  host,  stars  :  squadrons,  bands  23  wizards,  the  three  kings 

24  prevent,  go  before  :  ode,  solemn  song  33  doff'd,  put  off 

34  sympathize ,  show  similar  feeling  36  paramour,  lover 

39  front,  forehead  48  turning  sphere ,  see  end 


278  The  Children's  Treasury 

His  ready  harbinger, 

With  turtle  wing  the  amorous  clouds  dividing  ; 

And  waving  wide  her  myrtle  wand, 

She  strikes  a  universal  peace  through  sea  and  land. 

No  war,  or  battle's  sound 

Was  heard  the  world  around  : 

The  idle  spear  and  shield  were  high  up  hung  ; 

The  hooke'd  chariot  stood 

Unstain'd  with  hostile  blood  ; 

The  trumpet  spake  not  to  the  arme'd  throng  : 

And  kings  sat  still  with  awful  eye, 

As  if  they  surely  knew  their  sovran  Lord  was  by. 

But  peaceful  was  the  night 

Wherein  the  Prince  of  Light 

His  reign  of  peace  upon  the  earth  began  : 

The  winds,  with  wonder  whist, 

Smoothly  the  waters  kist, 

Whispering  new  joys  to  the  mild  ocean — 

Who  now  hath  quite  forgot  to  rave, 

While  birds  of  calm  sit  brooding  on  the  charmed 

wave. 
The  stars,  with  deep  amaze, 
Stand  fix'd  in  steadfast  gaze, 
Bending  one  way  their  precious  influence  ; 
And  will  not  take  their  flight 
For  all  the  morning  light, 
Or  Lucifer  that  often  warn'd  them  thence  ; 
But  in  their  glimmering  orbs  did  glow 
Until  their  Lord  himself  bespake,  and  bid  them  go. 

And  though  the  shady  gloom 

Had  given  day  her  room, 

The  sun  himself  withheld  his  wonted  speed, 

And  hid  his  head  for  shame, 

49  harbinger  herald  50  turtle,  dove         56  hooke'd,  with  hooks 

at  axletree        59  awful,  full  of  fear        64  whist,  hushed 
71    influence,  supposed  power  74  Lucifer,  the  morning-star 


of  English  Song  279 

As  his  inferior  flame 

The  new-enlighten'd  world  no  more  should  need  : 
He  saw  a  greater  Sun  appear 

Than  his  bright  throne,  or  burning  axletree,  could 
bear. 

The  shepherds  on  the  lawn 

Or  ere  the  point  of  dawn 

Sate  simply  chatting  in  a  rustic  row  ; 

Full  little  thought  they  than 

That  the  mighty  Pan 

Was  kindly  come  to  live  with  them  below  ; 

Perhaps  their  loves,  or  else  their  sheep 

Was  all  that  did  their  silly  thoughts  so  busy  keep. 

When  such  music  sweet 
Their  hearts  and  ears  did  greet 
As  never  was  by  mortal  finger  strook — 
Divinely-warbled  voice 
Answering  the  stringed  noise, 
As  all  their  souls  in  blissful  rapture  took  : 
The  air,  such  pleasure  loth  to  lose, 
With  thousand  echoes  still  prolongs  each  heavenly 
close. 

Nature,  that  heard  such  sound 

Beneath  the  hollow  round 

Of  Cynthia's  seat  the  aery  region  thrilling, 

Now  was  almost  won 

To  think  her  part  was  done, 

And  that  her  reign  had  here  its  last  fulfilling  ; 

She  knew  such  harmony  alone 

Could  hold  all  heaven  and  earth  in  happier  union. 

81  As,  as  if        86  Or  ere,  before        88  than,  then 

92  silly,  simple  95  strook,  struck  98  delighted  their  souls 

100  close,  cadence  102  within  the  Moon's  {Cynthia  s)  orbit 

103  aery  region,  the  atmosphere 


280  The  Childrerts  Treasury 

At  last  surrounds  their  sight 

A  globe  of  circular  light 

That  with  long  beams  the  shamefaced  night  array'd ; 

The  helme'd  Cherubim 

And  sworded  Seraphim 

Are  seen  in  glittering  ranks  with  wings  display'd, 

Harping  in  loud  and  solemn  quire 

With  unexpressive  notes,  to  Heaven's  new-born  Heir. 

Such  music  (as  'tis  said) 

Before  was  never  made 

But  when  of  old  the  Sons  of  Morning  sung, 

While  the  Creator  great 

His  constellations  set 

And  the  well-balanced  world  on  hinges  hung ; 

And  cast  the  dark  foundations  deep, 

And  bid  the  weltering  waves  their  oozy  channel  keep. 

Ring  out,  ye  crystal  spheres  ! 

Once  bless  our  human  ears, 

If  ye  have  power  to  touch  our  senses  so  ; 

And  let  your  silver  chime 

Move  in  melodious  time  ; 

And  let  the  bass  of  Heaven's  deep  organ  blow  ; 

And  with  your  ninefold  harmony 

Make  up  full  consort  to  the  angelic  symphony. 

For  if  such  holy  song 
Enwrap  our  fancy  long, 

Time  will  run  back,  and  fetch  the  age  of  gold  ; 
And  speckled  vanity 
Will  sicken  soon  and  die, 

And  leprous  sin  will  melt  from  earthly  mould  ; 
And  Hell  itself  will  pass  away, 
And  leave  her  dolorous  mansions  to  the  peering 
day. 

116  unexpressive,  such  as  no  one  could  express 

124  weltering,  rolling  125  see  end  132  consort,  agreement : 

symphony,  choral  song  134  be  audible  to  man 

136  speckled,  perhaps,  plague-spotted  140  dolorous,  sad 


of  English  So  tig  281 

Yea,  Truth  and  Justice  then 

Will  down  return  to  men, 

Orb'd  in  a  rainbow  ;  and,  like  glories  wearing, 

Mercy  will  sit  between 

Throned  in  celestial  sheen, 

With  radiant  feet  the  tissued  clouds  down  steering ; 

And  Heaven,  as  at  some  festival, 

Will  open  wide  the  gates  of  her  high  palace  hall. 

But  wisest  Fate  says  No  ; 
This  must  not  yet  be  so  ; 
The  Babe  yet  lies  in  smiling  infancy 
That  on  the  bitter  cross 
Must  redeem  our  loss  ; 
So  both  himself  and  us  to  glorify  : 
Yet  first,  to  those  y-chain'd  in  sleep, 
The  wakeful  trump  of  doom  must  thunder  through 
the  deep  ; 

With  such  a  horrid  clang 
As  on  mount  Sinai  rang 

While  the  red  fire  and  smouldering  clouds  outbrake  : 
The  aged  Earth  aghast 
With  terrour  of  that  blast 
Shall  from  the  surface  to  the  centre  shake, 
When,  at  the  world's  last  sessidn, 
The  dreadful  Judge  in  middle  air  shall  spread  his 
throne. 

And  then  at  last  our  bliss 

Full  and  perfect  is, 

But  now  begins  ;  for  from  this  happy  day 

The  old  Dragon,  under  ground 

In  straiter  limits  bound, 

Not  half  so  far  casts  his  usurped  sway  ; 

143  Orb'd  in,  encircled  by  145  sheen,  brightness 

146  tissued,  variegated  155  y-chained,  y  is  a  participial  prefix 

163  session,  assembly  for  trial  168  Dragon,  Satan 


282  The  Children's  Treasury 

And  wroth  to  see  his  kingdom  fail, 
Swindges  the  scaly  horrour  of  his  folded  tail. 

The  oracles  are  dumb  ; 

No  voice  or  hideous  hum 

Buns  thro'  the  archdd  roof  in  words  deceiving : 

Apollo  from  his  shrine 

Can  no  more  divine, 

With  hollow  shriek  the  steep  of  Delphos  leaving  : 

No  nightly  trance  or  breathed  spell 

Inspires  the  pale-eyed  priest  from  the  prophetic 

cell. 
The  lonely  mountains  o'er, 
And  the  resounding  shore, 
A  voice  of  weeping  heard,  and  loud  lament ; 
From  haunted  spring  and  dale 
Edged  with  poplar  pale 
The  parting  Genius  is  with  sighing  sent ; 
With  flower-inwoven  tresses  torn 
The  nymphs  in  twilight  shade  of  tangled  thickets 

mourn. 

In  consecrated  earth 

And  on  the  holy  hearth 

The  Lars  and  Lemures  moan  with  midnight  plaint ; 

In  urns,  and  altars  round 

A  drear  and  dying  sound 

Affrights  the  Flamens  at  their  service  quaint; 

And  the  chill  marble  seems  to  sweat, 

While  each  peculiar  Power  forgoes  his  wonted  seat. 

Peor  and  Baalim 

Forsake  their  temples  dim, 

With  that  twice  batter'd  god  of  Palestine  ; 

And  mooned  Ashtaroth 

172  swindges,  lashes  177  divine,  utter  oracles  ;  see  end 

186  Genius,  Spirit  of  the  place  191  Lars  and  Lemures,  house- 

hold gods  and  spirits  of  the  deal     194  Flamens,  Roman  priests : 
quaint,  here,  u.-.Uli1  196  forgoes,  quits  199  Dagon 


of  English  So  tig  283 

Heaven's  queen  and  mother  both, 
Now  sits  not  girt  with  tapers'  holy  shine ; 
The  Lybic  Hammon  shrinks  his  horn  ; 
In  vain  the  Tyrian  maids  their  wounded  Thammuz 
mourn. 

And  sullen  Moloch,  fled, 

Hath  left  in  shadows  dread 

His  burning  idol  all  of  blackest  hue  ; 

In  vain  with  cymbals'  ring 

They  call  the  grisly  king, 

In  dismal  dance  about  the  furnace  blue  ; 

The  brutish  gods  of  Nile  as  fast 

I  sis,  and  Orus,  and  the  dog  Anubis,  haste. 

Nor  is  Osiris  seen 

In  Memphian  grove,  or  green, 

Trampling    the    unshower'd    grass    with    lowings 

loud  : 
Nor  can  he  be  at  rest 
Within  his  sacred  chest  ; 

Nought  but  profoundest  hell  can  be  his  shroud  ; 
In  vain  with  timbrell'd  anthems  dark 
The    sable-stole'd    sorcerers    bear    his     worshipt 

ark. 

He  feels  from  Juda's  land 
The  dreaded  infant's  hand  ; 
The  rays  of  Bethlehem  blind  his  dusky  eyn  ; 
Not  all  the  gods  beside 
Longer  dare  abide, 

Not  Typhon  huge  ending  in  snaky  twine  : 
Our  Babe,  to  show  his  Godhead  true, 
Can  in  his  swaddling  bands   control  the  damne'd 
crew. 

215  unshower'd,  watered  by  the  Nile  only 

219  timbrell'd  anthems,  sacred  songs,  accompanied  by  timbrels 

220  stoUd,  mantled        223  eyn,  eyes        226  twine,  twists 


284  The  Children's  Treasury 

So,  when  the  sun  in  bed 
Curtain'd  with  cloudy  red 
Pillows  his  chin  upon  an  orient  wave, 
The  flocking  shadows  pale 
Troop  to  the  infernal  jail, 
Each  fetter'd  ghost  slips  to  his  several  grave  ; 
And  the  yellow-skirted  fays 

Fly  after  the  night-steeds,  leaving  their  moon-loved 
maze. 

But  see,  the  Virgin  blest 

Hath  laid  her  Babe  to  rest ; 

Time  is,  our  tedious  song  should  here  have  ending : 

Heaven's  youngest-teeme'd  star 

Hath  fix'd  her  polish'd  car, 

Her  sleeping  Lord  with  hand-maid  lamp  attending : 

And  all  about  the  courtly  stable 

Bright-harness'd  angels  sit  in  order  serviceable. 

J.  Milton 

*84* 
THE  BURNING  BABE 

As  I  in  hoary  winter's  night  stood  shivering  in  the 

snow, 
Surprised  I  was  with  sudden  heat,  which  made  my 

heart  to  glow  ; 
And  lifting  up  a  fearful  eye  to  view  what  fire  was 

near, 
A  pretty  babe,  all  burning  bright,  did  in  the  air 

appear  ; 
Who,  scorched  with  excessive  heat,  such  floods  of 

tears  did  shed, 
As  though  his   floods  should  quench  his   flames 

which  with  his  tears  were  fed  : — 

231  orient,  in  the  east  232  see  end  235  fays,  fairies 

236  steeds,  mares :  maze,  dancing-ground  239  tedious,  long 

240  teemid,  born     241  the  star  is  resting    244  harness'd,  armoured 


of  English  Song  285 

Alas  ! '  quoth  He,  '  but  newly  born,  in  fiery  heats 

I  fry, 
'Yet  none  approach  to  warm  their  hearts  or  feel 

my  fire  but  I  ! 
'  My  faultless  breast  the  furnace  is,  the  fuel  wound- 
ing thorns  ; 
'  Love  is  the  fire,  and  sighs  the  smoke,  the  ashes 

shame  and  scorns  ; 
'The  fuel  Justice  layeth  on,  and  Mercy  blows  the 

coals, 
'  The    metal   in    this    furnace  wrought    are   men's 

defiled  souls, 
'  For  which,  as  now  on  fire  I  am,  to  work  them  to 

their  good, 
'  So  will  I  melt  into  a  bath  to  wash  them  in  my 

blood.' — 
"With  this   He  vanish'd  out  of  sight,  and   swiftly 

sh  runk  away ; 
And   straight   I    called    unto     mind    that    it   was 

Christmas-day. 

R.  Southwell 

7  fry,  old  use  of  the  word  for  burn  12  defiled,  sinful 


<8mfc  of  Steontf  Hart 


NOTES: 

MAINLY  HISTORICAL  AND  CRITICAL 
PART  I. 

HGK       NO. 
6        4     Most  copies  of  Cowper's  poems  contain  an  account  of 
these  hares,  written  in  the  exquisite  prose  of  which  he 
was  master. 

13  9  The  poetry  which  Blake,  an  artist  of  very  high  and  rare 
powers,  wrote  during  his  youth,  shows  the  same  qualities 
as  his  art :  simple  yet  often  majestic  imagination,  spiritual 
insight,  profound  feeling  for  grace  and  colour.  Like  his 
art  also,  his  verse  is  narrow  in  its  range,  and  at  times 
eccentric  to  the  neighbourhood  of  madness.  But,  what- 
ever he  writes,his  eye  is  always  straight  upon  his  subject. 

a6  12  So  many  beautiful  pieces  in  prose  and  verse  have  been 
written  in  the  Scots  or  North  Country  language  that  a 
great  source  of  pleasure  is  lost  by  readers  who  will  not 
take  the  small  pains  required  to  master  the  peculiarities 
of  spelling  and  vocabulary :  it  is  hoped  that  the  very 
numerous  notes  added  here  will  tempt  children  to  give 
themselves  this  pleasure. 

The  original  ballads  by  unknown  poets  appear  gene- 
rally to  have  taken  their  present  form  within  the  two 
hundred  years  before  1700. 

33  16     Casabiani:a  was  son  to 'a  French  Admiral  commanding 

the  flag-ship  L'Orient  at  the  battle  of  the  Nile,  1758. 

34  17     The  Birkenhead ',  steam  troop-ship,  struck  near  Simon's 

Bay,  Cape  of  Good  Hope,  25th  of  February,  1852.  Four 
hundred  and  thirty-eight  officers,  soldiers,  and  seamen, 
were  lost :  including  the  military  commander,  Colonel 
Seton  of  the  74th.  For  some  alterations  which  make 
this  fine  poem  more  intelligible  to  children,  readers  are 
indebted  to  the  author's  kindness. 

37  19     These  gallant  lines  are  almost  worthy  of  Campbell. 

38  20    The  Royal  George,  of  108  guns,  commanded  by  Admiral 

Kempenfelt,  whilst  undergoing  a  partial  careening  in 
Portsmouth  Harbour,  was  overset  about  10  a.m.  Aug.  29, 
1782.  The  total  loss  was  believed  to  be  near  1,000 
souls.  These  lines  were  written  (Sept.  1782)  to  the  music 
of  the  March  in  Handel's  Scipio.  For  tenderness  and 
grandeur  under  the  form  of  severe  simplicity  they  have 
few  rivals.  They  are  Greek  after  the  manner  in  which  a 
modern  English  poet  should  be  Greek : — Readers  who 
admire  them  are  on  the  right  way  to  high  and  lasting 
pleasure. 

39  ii     Burns  justly  named  this  '  one  of  the  most  beautiful  songs 

in  the  Scots  or  any  other  language.' 

41  23  'I  never  saw  anything  like  this  funeral  dirge,'  says 
Charles  Lamb,  '  except  the  ditty  which  reminds  Ferdi- 
nand of  his  drowned  father  in  the  Tempest.  As  that  is 
of  the  water,  watery ;  so  this  is  of  the  earth,  earthy. 
Both  have  that  intenseness  of  feeling,  which  seems  to  re- 
solve itself  into  the  element  which  it  contemplates.' 

4*       94     Alexander  Selkirk's  life  of  four  years  in  the   desolate 


Notes  287 


island,  Juan  Fernandez,  may  have  been  in  De  Foe's 
mind  when  he  wrote  '  Robinson  Crusoe.' 
43  28  Line  66,  Cockrood,  unexplained,  so  far  as  the  Editor  can 
learn.  It  would  seem  to  mean  either  a  road  or  run,  as 
we  say,  for  woodcocks  ;  or  a  wooden  stage  for  them,  by 
a  vague  use  of  rood. 
49  29  A  justly  famous  specimen  of  the  allegorical  style  pre- 
valent in  Elizabeth's  time :  the  Shepherd's  life  being 
poetically  glorified  and  described  as  a  type  of  life  in 
general.  This  piece  should  be  compared  with  the  charm- 
ing truthfulness  of  Herrick's  country  scenes  in  the  pre- 
ceding piece,  or  Wordsworth's  following  : — Marlowe's 
has  much  beauty  :  but  how  much  more  beautiful  is  Truth, 
in  the  hands  of  a  genuine  poet ! 
63  41  The  tale  of  Lord  Leicester's  private  marriage  with 
Amy  Robsart,  her  imprisonment  and  fearful  death  at 
Cumnor  Hall,  near  Oxford,  partially  confirmed  by  his- 
tory, has  been  made  more  real  to  us  than  most  histori- 
cal realities  by  Sir  Walter  Scott's  Kenilworth  :  the  most 
splendid  of  the  three  tragic  romances  left  by  that  great 
writer. 
78  47  This  spirited  poem,  which  blazes  throughout  with  the 
highhearted  patriotism  of  its  distinguished  author,  should 
be  read  accompanied  by  some  history  of  the  period,  and 
the  map  of  England. 

Line  io,  Pinta;  the  Editor  can  find  no  Spanish  vessel 
recorded  under  this  name  ;  nor  does  the  word,  in  Spanish, 
bear  any  sense  applicable  to  a  ship.  Medina  Sidonia, 
who  commanded  the  Armada,  sailed  in  the  Saint 
Martin. 

Line  23,  At  Cressy,  in  Picardy,  the  king  of  Bohemia, 
and  a  body  of  Genoese  soldiers,  fought  in  the  army  of 
Philip.  Ccesar's  eagle  shield  appears  to  be  an  allusion 
to  some  German  troops  who  also  served.  The  eagle  is 
the  ancient  bearing  of  the  empire. 

Line  42,  Mines  of  lead  and  zinc  exist  in  the  Mendip 
Hills. 

Line  43,  Longleat,  Cranbourne ;  houses  in  Wilts  and 
Dorset  belonging  to  Lords  Bath  and  Salisbury. 

Line  7r,  Belvoir,  house  of  the  Duke  of  Rutland  near 
Grantham. 

Line  73,  Gaunt' s  embattled  pile,  Lancaster  Castle,  built 
by  John  of  Gaunt  about  1363. 
82  48  This  battle  was  fought  December  2,  1800,  between  the 
Austrians  under  Archduke  John  and  the  French  under 
Moreau,  in  a  forest  near  Munich.  Hoken  Linden  means 
Higk  Limetrees. 
86  51  Belisarius,  a  Thracian  peasant,  became  general  of  the 
Roman  Empire  under  Justinian.  He  fought  against  the 
Vandals,  Moors,  Goths,  Bulgarians,  and  other  enemies  ; 
but  was  finally  dismissed  ungratefully  by  the  Emperor, 
and  died  a.d.  565. 

The  writer  of  this  rough,  but  truly  noble  and  original 
poem, died  soon  after  1800.  The  version  here  given  (from 
Plumtre's  '  Songs,'  1806)  differs  from  that  published  by 
Collins  in  his  very  rare  little  book,  '  Scripscrapologia/ 
1804. 
8q      S3    Lines  22,  24,  These  places  are  in  the  S.W.  promontory  of 


288  Notes 


Donegal,  Ireland.  Slieveleaguc  is  a  mountain  ;  Columb- 
kill  a  glen  between  Slieveleague  and  the  Rosses  islands. 
96  56  The  poet  professed  that  these  fine,  wildly  musical  lines 
came  to  him  in  his  sleep,  and  that  all  he  did  on  waking 
was  to  write  them  down.  Coleridge,  in  his  magic 
world,  is  the  most  imaginative  and  romantic  of  all  our 
poets,  Shakespeare  (always  exceptional)  excepted. 
Seeing  how  little  he  wrote  in  this  class,  we  must  regret 
that  he  did  not  dream  oftener. 

100  59  In  this  one  poem  the  Editor  has  ventured  to  make  some 
changes,  in  order  to  simplify  the  language,  which  (in  the 
original)  does  not  appear  to  him  to  do  full  justice  to  the 
admirable  simplicity  and  pathos  of  the  picture  presented. 

102  60  During  the  last  three  centuries,  the  poetry  written  in  the 
North  Country  or  Scots  form  of  English  has  been  so  much 
more  important  than  that  written  in  other  forms,  as  to 
obscure  the  peculiar  merits  which  each  of  them  possesses. 
But  the  series  of  poems  from  which  this  piece  and  the  next 
are  taken  proves  the  pathos  and  picturesqueness  which  the 
Dorset  dialect  has  when  handled  by  a  gifted  countryman. 

105  62  The  death  of  a  young  man  wandering  on  Helvellyn  in 
the  Lake  country,  in  1805,  supplied  Scott  with  his  sub- 
ject. In  this  poem  the  thoughts  are  much  simpler  than 
the  language :  a  rare  fault  with  Scott,  or,  indeed,  with 
any  really  great  poet. 

112  70  An  admirable  specimen  of  the  Allegorical  style  which, 
under  the  first  two  Stuart  kings,  took  the  place  of  the 
pastoral  Elizabethan  allegory  represented  by  No.  29. 
Few  poets,  in  C.  Lamb's  language,  are  more  '  matterfur 
than  Herbert,  or  express  their  thoughts  with  fewer  words, 
introduced  only  for  ornament  or  metre's  sake. 

11S  72  Remarkable  for  its  close  and  scientific  enumeration  of 
natural  phenomena. 

119  73     An  extract  from  the  long  poem  said  to  have  been  written 

by  poor  Smart  when  confined  as  a  madman.  It  is  full  of 
glorious  wildness  and  intense  imagination.  Many  of  its 
strange  phrases  (as  line  10  here)  might  probably  be  traced 
to,  if  not  explained  by,  the  writings  of  the  '  mystical ' 
theologians. 

120  74       It  is  remarkable  how  much  Addison  here  anticipates  the 

exquisite  suavity  and  elegance  of  Cowper's  style  in  similar 
pieces. 

121  75     Wordsworth  has  left  no  more  consummate  specimen  of 

the  singular  art  by  which  he  presents  us  with  a  thought 
which  strikes  the  mind  as,  at  once,  perfectly  original, 
and  yet,  perfectly  familiar.  The  Cuckoo  (No.  78),  on 
the  other  hand,  paints  a  fervour  of  imaginative  delight 
which  would  be  felt  only  by  a  highly  poetical  nature 
128  81  Arethusa,  with  the  two  poems  which  follow  it,  will  pro- 
bably be  found  difficult  at  first  reading,  and  may  give 
older  children  a  glimpse  into  that  world  of  poetry  in 
general  to  which  this  book  is  meant  as  an  introduction. 

Shelley  has  here  put  into  verse,  so  brilliant  that  we 
easily  forgive  its  occasional  commonplace  and  careless- 
ness of  phrase,  a  Greek  mythical  legend. 

Divine  Alpheus,  who  by  secret  sluice 
Stole  under  seas  to  meet  his  Arethuse, 

— a   river  rising  near   Mount  Erymanthus  in   Arcadia, 


Notes  289 


the  ancient  central  province  of  Southern  Greece, 
is  leigned  to  pursue  the  stream  Arethusa  ;  they  pass 
through  a  rent  in  Mount  Erymanthus,  cross  under  thf 
sea  to  Sicily  (opposite  to  the  coast  of  Greece),  and  now 
form  one  stream  in  the  harbour  of  Syracuse  (Ortygia). 
Acroceraunia,  a  mountain  tract  in  Northern  Greece, 
must  have  been  named  by  Shelley  inadvertently,  or  on 
account  of  the  resonance  of  the  name.  This  poem  is 
a  fine  example  of  Shelley's  singular  power  in  personifica- 
tion :  he  paints  the  rivers  as  vividly  as  if  they  had  been 
real  human  creatures. 

131  82     L' Allegro  and  77  Penseroso.     It  is  a  striking  proof  of 

Milton's  astonishing  power,  that  these,  the  earliest  pure 
descriptive  lyrics  in  our  language,  should  still  remain 
the  best  in  a  style  which  so  many  great  poets  have  since 
attempted.  The  bright  and  the  thoughtful  aspects  of 
nature  are  their  subjects  ;  but  each  is  preceded  by  a 
mythological  introduction  in  a  mixed  Classical  and  Italian 
manner.  The  meaning  of  the  first  is  that  gaiety  is  the 
child  of  nature  and  of  spring  ;  of  the  second,  that  pen- 
siveness  is  the  daughter  of  solitude  and  wisdom. 

132  —     Line   36,    Milton   calls   Liberty  a    mountain-nymph  in 

allusion  to  ancient  Greece,  Switzerland,  and  other  similar 
countries  in  which  national  freedom  has  been  defended 
by  the  hardy  inhabitants.  Wordsworth  has  a  fine  sonnet 
on  this  subject. 
135  —  Line  132,  The  sock  was  the  low  shoe  worn  by  actors  in 
the  ancient  comedies  ;  the  buskin  (line  102  of  the 
Penseroso,  No.  83)  the  high  shoe  worn  in  tragedies,  to 
give  the  figure  a  more  commanding  air. 

Line  133.  Fancy:  probably  used  for  what  we  speak  of 
as  Imagination.  Milton  is  here  alluding  to  Shakespeare 
through  the  mouth  of  the  '  Cheerful  Alan  ; '  he  hence 
refers  to  Shakespeare's  lighter  qualities. 

Line  145,  Orpheus  in  Greek  story  was  a  divine  musician 
who  redeemed  his  wife  Eurydice  from  death  (Pluto)  by 
song ;  but  lost  her  when  on  the  boundary  line  of  life 
by  turning  back  to  look  on  her  before  she  had  passed  it. 
See  also  Penseroso,  No.  83,  line  105. 

137  83     Line  46,  Spare  Fast :    Milton  elsewhere  has  expressed 

his  belief  that  the  mind  is  made  clear  and  fit  for  high  and 
divine  thoughts  by  fasting. 

138  —    Line   87,  The  Great  Bear,   in  English    latitudes  being 

always  above  the  horizon,  is  here  used  for  Night. 

Line  98,  Sceptred  pall :  Ancient  tragedies  turned  gene- 
rally on  the  fortunes  of  heroic  persons,  kings,  and  gods  ; 
hence  the  actors  appeared  robed  and  with  sceptres. 
Tliebes,  &c.  are  names  referring  to  the  great  Athenian 
tragedies. 

139  —     Line  no.  Cambuscan,&c,  these  names  occur  in  Chaucer's 

unfinished  '  Squire's  Tale.' 

Line  116,  Great  bards  ;  referring  to  such  poets  as  the 
Italian  Ariosto  and  Tasso,  and  to  our  own  Spenser. 
(41  84  This  fine  poem,  recently  printed  from  manuscript,  has 
been  ascribed  to  Robert  Devereux,  Earl  of  Essex.  It 
does  not  appear  whether  the  first  of  that  name  (be- 
headed 1600)  or  his  son  (with  whom  the  peerage  ended 
in  1646)  be  intended.  The  lines,  at  any  rate,  belong  to 
the  '  Elizabethan '  period  or  a  few  years  later. 

U 


NOTES: 

PART  II. 
MAINLY   HISTORICAL   AND   CRITICAL 

PAGE        NO. 

143  i     This  rough  but  spirited  poem,  with  a  very  few  more,  give 

Drayton  a  claim  to  remembrance,  which  his  long  and 
laborious  chronicles  in  rhyme  have  failed  to  secure. 

Agincourt  was  fought  October  25,  1415.  A  history  of 
England,  and  Shakespeare's  Henry  the  Fifth  should  be 
read  with  this  poem. 

145  —  Line  48,  The  lilies  are  the  Fleur-de-Lys,  long  the  arms 
of  France,  as  the  Lions  are  of  England. 

147  2     Southey,    like    Drayton,    has    left    little    work    vividly 

penetrated  with  the  spirit  of  poetry,  in  comparison  with 
his  many  pages  of  skilful  and  industrious  manufacture. 
This  piece  has  something  of  the  merit  shown  in  Words- 
worth's tales  ;  but  it  wants  Wordsworth's  exquisiteness 

149  3     Simple  as  Lucy  Gray  seems,   a  mere  narrative  of  what 

'has  been  and  may  be  again,'  yet  every  detail  in  it  is 
marked  by  the  deepest  and  purest  '  ideal '  character. 
Hence  it  is  not  strictly  a  pathetic  poem,  pathetic  as  the 
situation  is.  So  far  as  this  element  has  a  place,  Words- 
worth asks  that  we  should  feel  for  the  parents,  rather 
than  for  the  child  :  she  is  painted  as  a  creature,  '  made 
one  with  Nature '  in  her  death,  not  less  than  in  her  life. 

152  5     This  little  poem,  again,  within,  its  sphere,  in  ideal  per- 

fection rivals  the  most  perfect  work  of  the  world's  greatest 
lyrical  poets. — Readers  who  smile,  are  invited  to  try  to 
'  do  likewise.' 

163  12  Within  its  range,  the  Ancient  Mariner 'is  'alone  in  its 
glory':— but  the  crown  must  have  been  given  to  Chris- 
taiel,  had  Coleridge  completed  that  poem,  and  completed 
it  in  the  style  of  the  two  parts  which  we  have. 

The  Memoirs  of  Wordsworth  give  an  interesting 
narrative  of  the  mode  in  which  the  Ancient  Marinerwas 
written :  The  dream  of  a  friend,  according  to  Coleridge, 
was  the  foundation  ;  but  by  far  the  greatest  part  of  the 
story  is  due  to  the  poet's  mind.  The  introduction  of  the 
Albatross,  and  the  working  of  the  ship  by  the  dead 
sailors,  were  motives  suggested  by  Wordsworth,  who  also 
supplied  a  very  few  lines,  as  the  friends  walked  together 
over  the  lovely  Quantock  Hills  in  the  autumn  of  1797-  — 
Such  were  the  external  circumstances  under  which  this 
masterpiece  was  created  :  it  is  pleasant  to  know  them  ; 
but  all  that  made  it  such  is  the  poet's  secret. 
185  14  Line  5,  It  is  not  clear  whether  by  fairy-flax  the  poet 
means  graceful  and  fairylike,  or  whether  it  be  a  local 
name  for  some  species  of  the  plant. 


Notes  291 

PAGE      NO 

190  16     Glencoe,  the  '  Valley  of  Weeping,'  is  a  savage  glen  on 

the  north-western  coast  of  Argyllshire.  The  murder  of 
the  Macdonalds  who  were  settlel  in  it,  by  the  Earls  of 
Breadalbane  and  Argyll,  and  (most  prominently)  Sir 
John  Dalrymple  of  Stair,  has  been  told  by  Macaulay 
with  equal  historical  force  and  judicial  fairness. 

igi  17     Line  12,  Marvell  belonged  to  the  '  Puritan  '  party  ;  and 

the  Emigrants  here  intended  are  persons  of  that  party 
flying  from  ecclesiastical  pressure  during  the  first  half  of 
the  seventeenth  century.  Lines  35,  36  present  a  curious 
example  of  '  anti-climax ' ;  but  the  poem,  as  a  whole,  is 
very  sweet  and  original. 

193  18,19  Noble,  if  rough,  pieces  of  work.  In  Bunyan's,  there 
may  be  an  echo  of  Shakespeare's  Under  the  greenwood 
tree,  No.  31. 

197  23    Very  full  explanatory  notes  have  been  subjoined  to  this 

and  to  other  poems  written  in  local  dialect,  in  hope  that 
children  may  thus  be  tempted  to  conquer  (to  their  own 
great  advantage)  the  sense  of  difficulty  and  repulsion  which 
the  first  sight  of  a  vocabulary,  differing  slightly  from 
the  common  literary  form,  never  fails  to  rouse. 

198  24     After  the  capture  of  Madrid  by  Napoleon,  Sir  J.  Moore 

retreated  before  Soult  and  Ney,  the  French  com- 
manders, to  Corunna,  in  North-west  Spain,  and  was 
killed  whilst  covering  the  embarkation  of  his  troops. 
His  tomb,  built  by  Ney,  bears  this  inscription — 
'John  Moore,  leader  of  the  English  armies,  slain  in 
battle,  1809.' 

199  25     Founded  on  a  real  story  of  the  English  campaign  in 

China,  i860. 
205         29    Eminently  characteristic  of  Scott  in  its  music.     It  has 

an  airy  freedom  and  freshness,  a  certain  magical  quality ; 

one  might  fancy  that  the  actual  voice  of  the  wildwood 

was  audible  in  it. 
20S         34    The  Thanksgiving,  and  No.  36,  are  delightful  pictures  of 

English  country  life  two  centuries  ago. 

222  44    There  is  something   of   the  sublime  in  the  severe  and 

pathetic  simplicity  of  this  little  piece. 

223  45     Perhaps  no  poem  in   this  collection  is  more  delicately 

fancied,  more  exquisitely  finished.  By  placing  the 
description  of  the  Fawn  in  a  young  girl's  mouth,  Marvell 
has  legitimated  that  abundance  of  '  imaginative  hyper- 
bole '  to  which  he  is  always  partial  ;  he  makes  us  feel  it 
quite  natural  that  the  maiden's  favourite  should  be  whiter 
than  milk,  sweeter  than  sugar,  '  lilies  without,  roses 
within.'  The  poet's  imagination  is,  as  it  were,  justified 
in  its  seeming  extravagance  by  the  intensity  and  unity 
with  which  it  invests  the  poem, — and  the  reader's  plea- 
sure is  proportionately  intensified. 

The  verdict  of  Time  is  not  always  just  and  conclusive, 
even  after  many  years.  Undeserved  contemporary 
fame  is  sometimes  traditionally  prolonged  ;  sometimes, 
though  less  often,  the  crown,  fairly  won,  is  withheld  for 
centuries.  Of  this  latter  injustice,  Marvell  is  an  ex- 
ample. We  cannot  place  him  among  our  '  greater  gods  ' 
of  song  ;  yet,  within  his  own  sphere,  no  one  has  more 
decided  originality,  more  vivid  imagination,  more  attrac- 
tive and  enduring  charm. 

U  2 


292  Notes 


PAGE     NO 

224  4''     This  poem  (inserted  on  the  ground  of  its  naiveti  and 

originality)  is  one  of  a  series  described  as  by  Charles  and 
Mary  Lamb.  The  style  seems  to  warrant  its  ascription 
to  the  latter. 

226  .;  i     An  old  fragment,  rompleted  with  exquisite  skill  by  Burns. 

His  version  of  No.  49  is  not  equally  successful.  It 
would,  indeed,  hardly  be  possible  to  improve  such  a  little 
masterpiece  of  music,  tenderness,  and  simplicity. 

227  50     A    justly-famous  piece  of   'Cavalier'   poetry:  Lovelace 

was  brought  twice  to  prison  by  his  devotion  to  Charles  I. 
Thames  (line  10),  by  a  classical  form  of  metaphor,  is  used 
for  "water. 

225  51     Compare  the  note  on  Nos.  48,  49  : — These  poems  may 

(perhaps)  a  little  exceed  the  boundary  line  laid  down  in 
the  Preface;  but  the  Editordidnot  know  how  to  omit  them. 

235  55  ^ur  collection  has  much  loftier  pieces  of  poetry  than 
Cowper's  Cat,  but  none  in  which  poetical  skill  is  more 
consummate. 

2f9  65  Sir  Hyde  Parker  commanded  in  this  battle,  fought 
in  April  1801  in  order  to  detach  Denmark  from  the 
Northern  coalition  which  hindered  the  singlehanded 
attempt  of  England  to  curb  Napoleon  Bonaparte.  Nel- 
son's spirit  of  heroic  gallantry  never  blazed  higher  than 
here.     Riou  was  killed  in  command  of  a  squadron. 

253  68  The  insertion  of  these  grandly-simple,  almost  Homeric 
stanzas  is  due  to  the  suggestion  of  Mr  W.  E.  Gladstone  : — 
of  No.  79,  equally  fine  in  its  wild  intensity  of  imagina- 
tion, to  Mr  R.  Browning.  The  Cyclops  were  the  assist- 
ants of  Vulcan,  the  god  of  the  forge,  in  old  mythology : 
Jove  was  the  king  of  all. 

256  70  The  vivid  incident  (a.d.  627),  characteristic  in  every  way 
of  the  English  mind,  upon  which  the  poem  is  founded,  is 
told  by  the  old  English  historian  Bede. 

260  74  The  subjects  chosen  by  Vaughan  and  Herbert  have  mostly 
placed  their  poems  beyond  the  limits  of  this  selection ; 
but  they  will  be  found  '  treasures  for  ever  '  by  readers 
who  find  more  attraction  in  the  matter  than  in  the  manner 
of  poetry.  Line  T7  refers  either  to  the  imagined  car- 
buncle, or  to  the  brief  luminosity  which  the  diamond 
retains  after  exposure  to  sunshine. 

266  80  For  wealth  of  condensed  thought  and  imagery,  fused  into 
one  equable  stream  of  golden  song  by  intense  fire  of 
genius,  the  Editor  knows  no  poem  superior  to  this  Elegy, — 
none  quite  equal.  Nor  has  the  difficulty  of  speaking  well 
on  Common  topics,  without  exaggeration  yet  with  unfail- 
ing freshness  and  originality,  been  ever  met  with  greater 
success.  Line  after  line  has  the  perfection  of  a  flawless 
jewel  :  it  is  hard  to  find  a  word  that  could  have  been 
spared,  or  changed  for  the  better.  This  condensation, 
however,  has  injured  the  clearness  of  the  poem :  the 
specific  gravity  of  the  gem,  if  we  may  pursue  the  image, 
has  diminished  its  translucent  qualities.  Many  notes 
have  hence  been  added  ; — the  useful  but  prosaic  task  of 
paraphrase  is  best  left  to  the  reader,  who  may  make  one 
for  his  benefit,  and  then  burn  it  for  his  pleasure. 

*75  82  Shelley's  masterpiece,  in  the  shorter  form  of  lyric  (as,  if 
such  a  judgment  be  permissible,  all  things  considered, 
the  Editor   would  hold  the   Skylark,)   follows  Gray's : 


Notes  293 

PAGE     NO. 

and  in  No.  83  we  have  one  of  the  most  stately  and 
musical  odes  in  our  or  any  language.  With  these, 
Watts'  verses  come  like  the  child  they  describe  into  a 
company  of  kings  and  conquerors.  Indeed,  the  admir- 
able author  of  the  Cradle  Song  almost  apologized  for 
publishing  it ; — yet  within  its  little  sphere,  this  also  is  a 
masterpiece  : — Reynolds  himself  does  not  paint  childhood 
with  a  more  absolute  tenderness. 

Here,  as  in  other  instances  within  our  selection,  it  will 
be  useful  if  the  reader  pauses  and  considers  how  many 
ways  true  art  offers  for  reaching  excellence.  The  '  House 
of  Poetry,'  if  we  may  so  call  it.  truly  has  '  many  man- 
sions':  size  and  splendour  are  not  the  only  elements 
of  success  :  here,  as  elsewhere,  the  poet's  words  are 
true —  , 

In  small  proportions  we  just  beauties  see  ; 
And  in  short  measures  life  may  perfect  be. 

276  83     Milton    imagined    this    magnificent    ode    at    dawn    of 

Christmas-day  1629,  having  then  lately  passed  his  twenty- 
first  birthday,  and  completed  his  Cambridge  course. 
The  poem,  if  compared  with  V Allegro  or  Comics,  moves 
somewhat  heavily  at  times,  and  as  if  embarrassed  by  its 
weight  of  historical  allusion :  Milton  has  proved  his 
armour,  but  does  not  yet  wear  it  with  perfect  ease.  Yet 
this  stateliness  of  movement,  as  in  sacred  music,  befits 
the  subject. 

277  83     Line  37,  Nature  is  here  treated  by  Milton  as  '  guilty,'  as 

impersonating  a  '  fallen  world.'  The  heathen  religions, 
in  the  latter  part  of  the  Ode,  are  similarly  regarded 
rather  as  demon-worship  than  as  the  imperfect  and 
corrupted  efforts  of  man  to  reach  the  truth. 

—  —     Line  47,  The  olive  and   the  myrtle  (line  51)  have  for 

many  centuries  been  regarded  as  emblems  of  Peace  and 
her  blessings. 

—  —     Line  48,   turning  spJiere ;  the  whole   Universe   is   here 

thought  of  as  a  whirling  orb,  hung  from  heaven. 

278  —     Line  68,  The  '  halcyon  days,'  when  the  king-fishers  were 

breeding,  and  the  sea  supposed  to  be  supernaturally 
calm,  were  placed  by  the  ancients  in  midwinter. 

279  —     Line  89,  Pan,  God  of  shepherds,  here  used  for  the  Lord 

of  All. 

280  —     Line   no,  globe;    here    seemingly    bears    the    military 

sense  of  body  of  troops. 

—  Line  125,  The  Universe  was  by  the  Greeks  supposed  to 
consist  of  crystal  spheres  concentrically  arranged,  the 
sound  of  which  as  they  moved  formed  a  heavenly  music, 
too  fine  for  human  hearing. 

—  Line  135,  By  the  '  age  of  gold'  the  old  poets  meant  the 
earliest  and  best  time  of  the  world. 

2%2  —  Lines  173 — 236,  Milton  here  works  out  at  length  the 
tradition  that  the  power  of  the  heathen  gods  ended  with 
the  birth  of  Our  Saviour.  Oracles  were  answers  given 
to  enquirers  at  certain  holy  places,  as  Delphos  (liner78)  : 
Nymphs  (line  188)  goddesses  of  wood  and  field. 

2°3  —  Line  204,  Thammuz  or  Adonis  was  feigned  to  die  and 
revive  yearly  in  Lebanon.  Osiris  (line  213)  was  the  god 
of  the  Nile,  torn  to  pieces  by  Typhon,  and  embalmed  in  a 


294  Notes 

sacred  chest.  The  Bull-form  belongs,  however,  to  Apis, 
another  Egyptian  deity. 

284  8-5  Line  232,  The  old  belief  was,   that  spirits  fled  away  at 

dawning  to  their  prisons  underground. 

Line  243,  courtly,  the  stable  of  Bethlehem  being  figured 

as  a  palace. 

2g  g     Ben  Jonson,  a  man  who  rated  himself  Hghly,  said  If  he 

had  written  that  piece,  the  Burning  Babe,  he  would  have 
been  content  to  destroy  many  of  his  own  poems  : — and 
Jonson's  enthusiasm  is  well  justified  by  the  passionate 
intensity  and  picluresqueness  of  this  lovely  mystical 
lyric. 


INDEX   OF  WRITERS. 
PART  I. 

FIRST   PERIOD 

Fletcher,  John  (1576 — 1625)  27 

Herbert,  George  (1593 — 1632)  70 
Herrick,  Robert  U591 — 1674?)  2& 

Jonson,  Ben  (1574 — 1637)67 

King,  Henry  (1591  — 1669)  64 

Marlowe,  Christopher  (1562  — 1593)  29 
Milton,  John  (1608 — 1674)  82,  83 

Nash,  Thomas  (1567 — 1600?)  26 

Shakespeare,  William  (1564 — 1616)  22,  36,  52 

Webster,  John  ( 1638  ?)  23 

Unknown  :  12,  13,  33,  40,  44,  54,  69,  84 


SECOND   PERIOD 

Addison,  Joseph  (1672 — 1719)  74 

Blake,  William  (1757 — 1827)  1,  3,  9,  57,  58 
Burns,  Robert  (1759 — 17961  5,  34,  65 

Cibber,  Colley  (1671 — 1757)  7 

Collins,  John  (18th  century)  51 

Cowper,  William  (1731 — 1800)  4,  6,  10,  20,  24 

Goldsmith,  Oliver  (1728 — 1774)  39 

Lindsay,  Anne  (1750 — 1825)  43 
Logan,  John  (1748 — 1788)  77 

Mallet,  David  (1700? — 1765)  11 
Mickle,  William  Julius  (1734 — 1788)  21,  41 

Skelton,  Philip  (1707 — 1787)72 
Smart,  Christopher  (1722  —1770)  73 


296  Index  of  Writers 

THIRD   PERIOD 

Ai.lingham,  William  ( )53 

Barnes,  William  ( )  60,  61 

Bryant,  William  Cullen  ( )  79 

Byron,  George  Gordon  Noel  (1788 — 1824)  46 

Campbell,  Thomas  (1777— 1844)  14,  45,  48,  30,  76 
Coleridge,  Samuel  Taylor  (1772 — 1834)  56 
Cunningham,  Allan  (1784  — 1842)  25 

Dibdin,  Charles  (1745- 1814)  15 

Doyle,  Francis  Hastings  Charles  ( )  17 

Hemans,  Felicia  Dorothea  (1794—1835)  16 

Macaulay,  Thomas  Babington  (1800 — 1859)  47 

Newman,  John  Henry  ( )  68 

Scott,  Walter  (1771 — 1832)  37,  38,  42,  49,  55,  62,  63,  80 
Shelley,  Percy  Bysshe  (1792 — 1822)  32,  81 

Wordsworth,  William  (1770 — 1850)  2,  8,  30,  31,  3s,  66,  71,  75,  78 

Unknown  :  18,  19,  59 


INDEX    OF  WRITERS. 
PART  II. 

FIRST   PERIOD 

Bunyan,  John  (1628— 1688)  18 

Carew,  Elizabeth  (16th  and  17th  centuries)  19 

Drayton,  Michael  (1563 — 1631)  1 
Drummond,  William  (15S5— 1649)  78 

Herbert,  George  (1593 — 1632)  76 
Herrick,  Robert  (1591 — 1674?)  32,  34,  36,  62 
Heywood,  Thomas  ( —  1649  ?)  1,  30 

Lovelace,  Richard  (1618 — 1658)  50 

Marvell,  Andrew  (1631 — 1678)  17,  45 
Milton,  John  (1608 — 1674)  S3 

Shakespeare,  William  (1564 — 1616)  9,  31 
Shirley,  James  (1596  — 1666)  22 
Southwell,  Robert  (1560 — 1595)84 

Vaughan,  Henry  (1621 — 1695)  74 

Wotton,  Henry  (1568 — 1639)  20 

Unknown  :  10,  n,  13,  28,  53,  54,  67 


SECOND   PERIOD 

Blake,  William  (1757 — 1827)  4,  5,  7,  21,  75 
Burns,  Robert  (1759 — 1796 1  43,  48, 

Collins,  John  (18th  century)  77 
Cowper,  William  (1731 — 1800)  42,  55,  73 

Gisborne,  Thomas  (1758 — 1846I  44 
Goldsmith  Oliver  (1728 — 1774)  57 
Gray,  Thomas  (1716 — 1771)  80 

Langhorne,  John  (1735 — 1779)  38 
Logan,  John  (1748 — 1788)  52 


Oldys,  W (18th  century)  71 


298  Index  of  Writers 

Smart,  Christopher  (1722— 1770)  79 
Smith,  Charlotte  (1749 — 1806)37 

Thomson,  James  (1700 — 1748)  64 

Warton,  Thomas  (1728 — 1790)  35 
Watts,  Isaac  (1674 — 1748)  82 

Unknown  :  49 


THIRD   PERIOD 

Allingham,  William  (  )  59 

Barnes,  William  ( )  23 

Bryant,  William  Cullen  ( )  61 

Byron,  George  Gordon  Noel  (1788 — 1824)  69 

Campbell,  Thomas  (1777 — 1844)  56,  58,  65 
Coleridge,  Samuel  Taylor  (1772 — 1834)  12 

Dibdin,  Charles  (1745—1814)66,  68 

Doyle,  Francis  Hastings  Charles  \ )  25 

Keats,  John  (1795 — 1821)  60 

Lamb,  Mary  (1765  ? — 1847)  46 

Latto,  T C (19th  century)  6 

Longfellow,  Henry  Wadsworth  ( )  14 

Moore,  Thomas  (1780 — 1852)  72 

Scott,  Walter  (1771 — 1832)  15,  16,  26,  27,  29,  41,  63 
Shellf.y,  Percy  Bysshe  (1792 — 1822)  81 
Southey,  Robert  (1774 — 1843)  2,  47 

Wolfe,  Charles  (1791 — 1823)  24 

Wordsworth,  William  (1770 — 1850)  3,  8,  33,  39, 40 

Unknown  :  70 


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